No More Retries
by Grand Phoenix
Summary: Garrosh was supposed to have been put on trial for his war crimes. He would've escaped, gone back in time, and returned with a posse of orcs to steamroll Azeroth. Instead the stranger interferes and closes the door to that timeline forever. The peace is won, but like hell Wrathion's going to let that last. [Post-MoP, AU after Siege][Mild OOC]
1. No More Warlords

_A/N: I love World of Warcraft, and (although I've never played it) I love Final Fantasy 13. So I wrote this story...initially as a really long one-chapter. Then it got bigger than I intended, some of the transitions looked awkward in just that one document, and so I split it up. There are three chapters of this done so far, and, hopefully, it'll be no longer than five chapters at most._

_Dedicated to my good friend and fellow WoW player, "Mr. Wil". You know who you are._

* * *

**1.  
****No More Warlords**

Her hair was a bright shade of pink that was seen more on a gnome than a human, and her clothing was some of the most garish Armi had ever seen, but for some reason the young woman always stayed out of sight and so far removed from the mind that half the time she had forgotten she was even there.

But she knew how to fight, how to hold her own, and there were instances when the opposition would fall wordlessly to the ground, the only sound escaping their lips as the life fled from their eyes a sigh or a mangled gasp. Then she would be on the next pack of gun-toting goblins and axe-wielding orcs, darting around like a night elf melting into the shadows. If not for the peculiar sword she used, Armi would've mistaken her for a rogue, and rogues reminded her of Wrathion.

She didn't look intimidating, nor did she look the type to heroically leap in, cave the floor beneath her feet into spider web cracks, and cleave everything in two like a whirlwind. That weapon didn't look very big or heavy, either. She was there and, at the same time, not there, an ephemeral presence that did not belong.

Armi scanned the wide, spacious chamber. Where did she go? She was just here a few minutes ago, when the group consisting of Alliance and Horde adventurers ventured down the stairs and witnessed the fight between Thrall—no, not Thrall, he went by the name Go'el now (because didn't he say once that he didn't want to be called 'slave'? Armi thought he mentioned something of that vein after his wedding in Hyjal)—and Garrosh, their weapons clashing and sending orange-red sparks flying. Mace and axe. Doomhammer and Gorehowl—or rather, a facsimile of Gorehowl, with bluish-purple growth on the head and wandering yellow eyes that reminded her uncomfortably of Cho'gall—and the power of chaos won out against the purity of the elements made twisted by the cruelty of Dark Shamanism.

With how fast that lady moved, she could've struck Garrosh down from behind while he was occupied. Or destroy that creepy heart that was hanging over their heads, pulsing and oozing smoke. Armi had seen her toss an arsenal of magic that would've caught the attention of the Kirin Tor in a less combative time, and the impacts of some of those spells were powerful and pretty damn explosive.

But nothing of the sort happened, and she was nowhere to be found.

_Maybe it wouldn't be enough. Or maybe she didn't think it would be a good idea to get in between them._ But it _was_ a good thing she didn't do anything, because once Thrall had been disposed of Garrosh went on the offensive, calling forth his Warbringers to delay the adventurers and his Farseer wolf riders to mend their wounds while he harnessed the power of Y'Shaarj itself to overcome them.

Now with the Heart of the Old God a congealing puddle on the floor, Garrosh was lying prostrate before the former Warchief, snarling and just as angry (if not more so) as he was before the arrival of the Alliance and the Horde rebels.

_Well, if she's waiting for him to be on his last legs, now's her chance._

"Can't find her, either?" A green-eyed high elf approached her, followed by a muscular quilen chiseled from obsidian and garnet. He regarded her coolly, although his dark brows and goatee made him always appear wary.

Armi shook her head and stroked the quilen's mane, smiling as he pressed into her touch. "'Fraid not. You'd think she'd stick out more."

"I thought I saw her under the balcony," said Mishka, nodding toward the back of the room.

"Is she?"

"No. Banchou can still pick up her scent, if that's any consolation." The quilen's ears pricked, hearing his name

"She's like a ghost," said Armi. "One minute she's there and the next she's gone, even when you think she's standing at the edge of your periphery."

"She looks real to me. She doesn't have the transparency spirit beasts and ancestral spirits have."

"Would Banchou be able to sniff her out, if she was?" What _did_ spirit beasts and ancestral spirits smell like, anyway? Other than the Forsaken and the undead remnants of the Scourge reeking of decay, chemicals, and peat moss. Maybe potpourri?

"He could probably tell there's _something_ or _someone_ there. But smell her? If he could, he would've noticed by now." Mishka reached over and scratched him beneath the chin. Banchou raised his head and nudged her hand, nose twitching loose chips of granite.

"Who do you think she is?" Armi asked. "A mercenary like us?"

Mishka shrugged. "That's what it looks like. Or she's an Alliance soldier who's not wearing the tabard. If she is, she didn't say."

"Maybe she's a Blacktalon agent?" Whoever Wrathion threw his weight to his comrades would follow him to the letter, unwavering in their conviction. While the dragon had specifically told her he would pledge his allegiance to the Alliance following the skirmishes in Krasarang, there were whispers among the rebels that he was actually supporting the Horde. Sneaky guy, that Wrathion, and strange, but that didn't necessarily make him a bad person.

But Mishka shook her head. "She's not wearing the standard uniform. What she's wearing is…well, it's like having blood elves and goblins collaborating on a design that married the concepts of easy movement and technological advancement while trying to look cool and awe-inspiring. Does that make sense?"

Armi put a finger to her chin and tried to remember the woman's clothing. White flak jacket and a single green spaulder, green shorts, a loose-fitting belt around one leg with the kind of pouch you'd see rogues wear to stash an accouterments of poisons, smoke bombs, and throwing weapons. Along with her vibrant hair was a long red cape that flowed like a scarf caught in the wind…and rogues never wore capes. Unless they were goblin sappers who pretended to be some sort of "superman" and flew around on their jetpacks, crazy bastards.

The whole ensemble didn't look like something a tailor or blacksmith would make. It had to be a full set made of light armor (cloth and leather), medium armor (mail), or heavy armor (plate). Nobody, as far as she knew, mixed and matched. It had to be a mix of light and medium armor made from an assortment of smelted ores and flexible cloths and leather, and if she were a true warrior she would be decked out in plate and carry a huge weapon. And yell a lot, like Armi did, to inspire and rally her comrades to heights of frenzy.

She thought of demon hunters and discarded it as quickly as it had come. They were certainly light on their feet, but the woman wasn't blind and didn't bear any tattoos signifying her as one, and she most certainly didn't dual-wield warglaives or transform into a demon. Or drink from the skull of an orc warlock. Illidan Stormrage she was not.

"Yeah, I get you." Wait a minute. "What about her weapon? Have you seen it?"

Mishka sneered. "If I still had my gun, I would weep! Who would be crazy enough to forge a blade using the _grip_ as a hilt?"

"Is that what it looked like?" Seriously?

"It did! I saw it up close, when we were fighting the Paragons. It's an actual barrel! It even has the trigger!" Mishka clenched her fists. "I want to know the wise-guy that came up with that! What was he trying to accomplish, turning a sword into a _gun_?"

Armi shrugged, and the chain lining the inside of the suit of armor jingled with the motion. "Well we've seen a lot of things that weren't possible before." Like a mana bomb amplified by the Focusing Iris that turned everyone that didn't escape in time into arcane dust. Or mechanical golems that operated on a liquid that looked suspiciously like blood; oh, and the biggest one was powered by the Thunder King's negative emotions _alone_. "So maybe it's possible?"

"It can't be!" the high elf exclaimed. "It can't be because _not once_ have I seen her hold it like a gun! She holds it like a sword, so if it looks like a sword, swings like a sword, and breaks like a sword, it's a sword!"

"What are the chances a draenei made it for her? Out of all the races, they're the most technologically advanced."

"But what would the draenei achieve in making a weapon like that? It's not like the blade will shoot _lasers_ from its point by pressing the trigger! And if my eyes aren't failing me, I saw a _magazine_ attached to the grip! A _ma-ga-zine!_ What's the point of having that if there isn't a barrel to _expel the bullets from?_"

"I don't know! I haven't used a gun since Deathwing exploded!" Armi backed away, holding up her hands defensively. Sensing her sudden movements, Banchou stamped his paws and rose on his hind legs. He barked once, fell back on all fours, and shook himself.

Mishka whirled around and looked every which way. "Well, when I find her I'm going to give her a piece of my mind—!"

A loud gunshot rang. Armi and Mishka, along with every adventurer, Stormwind soldier, Orgrimmar grunt, and faction leader present, recoiled. Some shouted in surprise. Banchou dropped low to the ground in front of his mistress, ears flattened and lips pulled back in a snarl. Armi reached for the hilt of the axe slung behind her back. Mishka whipped out the bow from its sling, knocked an arrow against the drawstring, and aimed it at the opposite end of the room where the sound originated from.

Her jaw dropped open. "What the…?"

It was the pink-haired lady with the mismatched outfit and glaring red cape. She was standing on top of Garrosh, one foot planted on the back of his meaty neck, and in her hand was the strange sword. Except it was no longer a sword, for while it had the same red on black scheme upon its gleaming metal, it now sported a Light-be-damned _barrel_.

Oh, and it was smoking, too, pointed at the back of Garrosh's head, where a pool of blood was spreading on the tiled stone floor.

King Varian Wrynn, Go'el, and Lord Taran Zhu of the Shado-Pan stared at her, speechless. Just like everyone else, as a matter of fact.

"Holy crap!" Armi gasped, mouth ajar and eyes wide open. Her hand fell to her side.

"No. Way," said Mishka. Realizing that they were not in danger anymore, Banchou relaxed and straightened his posture, tail wagging curiously.

The woman lifted the gun—no, not just a gun and not just a sword but a, a, a _gunblade_—and flicked her wrist; and with that simple motion the gun split and folded on itself and became a sword again. She moved it behind her back and placed it into a holster that Armi and Mishka did not see before. Then she leaned back, crossed her arms, and stared down her nose at the three men gathered around the newly-made corpse. "A trial? Really? And you think that's going to solve _everything?_ Don't make me laugh. I just spared you all the trouble of putting up with this brute and his regime for the _rest of your lives_."

Neither man nor orc nor pandaren said anything. Varian blinked and shook his head, lost in a daze. Go'el glanced down at Garrosh, up at the woman, and then at Varian. "…Did that just happen?"

"…I think that just happened," Varian mumbled.

"Are you sure?"

"I don't know."

The woman gestured at the ever-increasing puddle. "Go ahead and touch it. Lick it and tell me it doesn't taste like copper. Go on, I'll wait." She turned to Taran Zhu. "What about you? You want to try?"

Taran Zhu started, then regained his composure and glared at her. "No, I will not. What were you thinking, killing him like that?"

"What was I thinking? Oh, I was thinking I could put an end to—what was his name again? Ah, Garrosh Hellscream. I was thinking of putting an end to Garrosh Hellscream right here and now because you couldn't make up your _damn minds_. How does that sound to you, fluffy?"

"My name is Taran Zhu," he grounded out, "and I'm not fat, I'm big-boned and proud of it!"

"Yeah, cool, whatever. And tell me, Taran Zhu, what were you thinking, taking this monster to court? The vote of public opinion will be all for executing him, but what would your Celestials think, huh? They'll probably say something like 'a dead person can't learn things like strength and wisdom and hope and fortitude' or 'you need to understand and accept who he is right now so you know what can be changed in the future'. Or something to that effect. Am I wrong?"

"You don't know that!"

"I think you and I know better than to follow a god blindly. I know; I've worked with them before, and my gods weren't as forgiving or as kind as yours."

"How dare you blaspheme the Celestials!" Taran Zhu growled.

"Blaspheme? No, I don't speak blasphemy; I speak common sense. For all you know the trial would've been a lesson in disguise for everyone involved, including Garrosh." She looked down at the body, and her face grew hard and cold. "But some people don't have the capacity to change let alone listen. If you had spared him, I can guarantee he would do his damnedest to escape and get his revenge on you, and then history would repeat itself."

"We were going to decide who would kill him, anyway!" said Varian, almost complaining. "I-It's not like Thrall and I—"

"_Go'el,_" stressed the orc.

"_Go'el_ and I were going to fight over it! Hell, everyone here had a reason to want to see him dead! Jaina, Vereesa, Vol'jin, Baine, that, uh, one blood elf with the eyepatch—"

"IT'S LOR'THEMAR!" said elf in question shouted. Sylvanas threw her head back and cackled.

Varian snapped his fingers. "That's right! I could never remember your name. Anyway, we each share a common goal to deal with Garrosh personally, but with a trial we could settle on a proper punishment without causing any more unnecessary bloodshed." He frowned deeply. "Not like that that's ever going to come to pass, miss."

"Then one of you guys should've made a move when you had the chance," she said, and quirked an eyebrow at them. Taran Zhu shook with barely restrained rage. Varian glowered petulantly. Go'el sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Right, that's over and done with. Now if you'll excuse me." She hopped off the orc that was once Garrosh Hellscream and strutted past the trio. As one, the Alliance and the Horde watched the woman walk toward a set of stairs leading to the upper floor. Some of the adventurers gave her a wide berth.

Then she stopped. "Oh, I almost forgot! Is there anyone here who knows someone by the name of Wrathion?"

Armi perked up. She grabbed Mishka by the shoulder with one hand and jostled her while she waved at the woman with the other. "Oh! We do! We know Wrathion!"

She approached them at a casual gait, but Banchou shot like a rocket after her and met her halfway across the room, barking. She didn't stop, but she glanced down at the quilen that circled her from behind. He nudged his nose against her hand, looked up at her with his mouth partly open, then looked back at his master and friend. This time the lady did smile, an upturn of her lips, and placed that hand on the back of his head.

"He's a brave beast and a valuable companion," she said to Mishka. "He'll protect you no matter what."

The high elf blushed. "Oh! Well, uh, thank you. I train my pets to be tough like that. Wary, too. He doesn't catch on with everyone right away, but I figure he can tell you're not a bad person."

"I see. But I wonder if he'll be able to protect you from Wrathion? With a name like that, I don't expect him to take news of my transgressions lightly."

Armi frowned. "Well, he did ask us to kill him…but that doesn't really matter anymore, does it?"

The woman nodded. "No, it doesn't. Anyway, there's somewhere I have to be so I want you two to tell him what happened here. Oh, and give him this." She opened her pouch and dug out a letter. "If you're unable to find him, give it to one of the Blacktalons."

Mishka grabbed hold of the envelope and had Armi turn it over. In its center was a wax seal. Her eyes narrowed. "You're an emissary from Silvermoon?" she asked in a quiet, conspiratorial voice, but the note of incredulity was hard to miss. She tapped a finger on the seal.

Although she did not smile, the woman's eyes reflected as such. "Oh, that? It's not the Icon of Blood, but it does look like it, doesn't it? Just make sure this gets to him. He'll know what to do."

Armi looked up from the letter. "Don't worry, we will—"

The woman was gone.

"How the hell does she do that? I wanna know!"

"I think this is more important than whatever magic she uses," Mishka said. Taking her by the arm, she motioned Armi to turn around and face forward. King Varian was standing before Vol'jin, engrossed in conversation. She put a finger to her lips, and they listened.

By the time they were done and mages from both sides opened portals for the group of adventurers to pass through, Armi was cringing. "Wrathion's not gonna like this."

"We might want to make a stop at the stables and bring all my pets with me," said Mishka. "You know, just in case he decides to kill us ten times over."

"He wouldn't do that, would he? I mean, we're his personal champions!" And agents of destruction, forged by Wrathion's will 'to change the face of Azeroth forever'. "We helped him make a spear, eat a dead king's heart, and tailor these fabulous cloaks! What would he gain out of murdering us?"

"A much-needed catharsis, for one."

Armi nodded. "He'll understand. He has to. I mean, Garrosh is dead! That should definitely ease the fiery cockles of his angry, draconic heart!"

* * *

"SHE DID _WHAT?_"

Armi snatched Mishka by the wrist and ran for the door. "RUN AWAY!" She shoulder-tackled through it, flung the high elf down the steps, and threw herself over the porch just as a gout of fire burst through the opening and set the wooden panels alight. There were a few surprised shouts and sounds of glass shattering.

Mishka staggered to her feet, face glistening with sweat from the heat. "Banchou!"

The quilen emerged from the flames, none the worse for wear and shaking himself of the soot coating him from bearded chin to sculpted paw. Behind him, one or two patrons tossed water onto the porch and stamped it out with their feet until all that remained was curls of smoke. The pandaren lingered at the threshold, shaken but unharmed, and Armi was glad for their safety. She got up and followed Mishka and Banchou into the tavern.

Wrathion trembled, breathing heavily and staring at the wall. In one hand was the letter, crumpled up in a ball. In the other, blood trickled down his palm from where he held his ceramic mug, pieces of it lying around his feet. His claws were extended.

Armi approached him, slowly, cautiously. "Hey," she began. "Do you want a hug?"

"NO, I DO NOT WANT A HUG!" he roared, whirling on her. He lashed out, and the air from his claws whistled by her face. To her surprise, she didn't flinch. "What I want is that bitch strung up by the neck like a Winter Veil ornament! All the months of hard work, of gallivanting across Pandaria, the Isle of Thunder, and the Timeless Isle, was an absolute waste! IT'S ALL HER FAULT!" He grabbed a sack of grain leaning against the wall and threw it across the room. Tong, the waiter, calmly moved his head to the side as it crashed home and burst into a cloud of fine powder.

"Wouldn't it be better this way?" Mishka asked. "The Horde will finally have a Warchief that won't screw them over, and Varian's okay with that."

"You don't understand! Both of you! I did everything in my power. The whole world was his, and he needed only seize it! Oh sure, there would be another year of fighting, there would be enormous casualties trying to take Thunder Bluff—"

"Wait, _why_ Thunder Bluff?" Armi asked, but Wrathion ignored her.

"But the rest of the Horde would've caved eventually! That idiot Wrynn could've united the whole world under the Alliance banner, and now it's RUINED!" He kicked a stray glass cup, sending it flying across the floor. Tong hopped over it without looking. He bowed and presented a tray of three glasses and a dish of water. Armi took their drinks. Mishka laid the dish on the floor for Banchou, then turned and accepted the glass from Armi with a nod of thanks.

Armi offered the flute to Wrathion. He grabbed it, knocked it back, and threw it on the floor. It smashed into a brilliant, diamond shower. "That idiot. 'High King', indeed! Should've taken the throne room myself, like Auntie Onyxia. Get things DONE."

"Don't mean to interrupt your soliloquy, bud," Armi said, "but whose side were you on? Mishka and I kept hearing you were backing the Horde."

"What? Oh, I was. I thought Hellscream's victory was assured before he turned half his Horde against him. So after our adventures with Lei Shen and his merry band of mogu, I changed allegiances."

"You mean this whole time you were supporting the Horde?" Mishka exclaimed. "Garrosh and his Kor'kron? You told us you were for the Alliance! Why would you want to root for the guy who was dead set on world domination and committing mass genocide on every non-orc race? Are you insane?"

Wrathion harrumphed. "Oh, don't look so surprised! I _am_ a black dragon. My loyalties are my own. But that girl…ooh, that wretched girl! It's because of her that my carefully laid plans are in disarray!"

"But aren't you glad that Garrosh is, you know, dead?" Armi asked.

"Of course he deserved to die…but not like this! _Nothing_ is turning out the way _I_ wanted it to!" He sighed harshly through his nose, expelling twin furls of dragonfire. "You remember what she looks like, right?"

"Um, yeah? What about her?"

"Do you know her name? Where she lives?"

"I'm not getting involved!" cried Armi, taking a step back.

"You do, don't you?" He persisted, stepping forward.

"No! She left after she told us to find you! We didn't ask what her name was, either!"

"Damn!" Wrathion snapped his fingers and began to pace back and forth. "Damn, damn, damn, _damn_, _DAMN!_" He spun around and knocked the tray from Tong's paws.

Like a bolt of lightning, he struck the dragon-prince across the face. "Enough!" he roared.

Mishka jumped, nearly dropping the glass. "Oh hot damn!" she uttered under her breath. Armi's eyes widened to the size of china plates. Banchou raised his face from the dish, chuffed disinterestedly, and went back to drinking from the dish.

Wrathion stared at the bartender, his hand on his cheek, aghast. "You…you hit me! A prince! The last black dragon! You—"

"Talk, talk, talk!" said Tong, jabbing a finger against the boy's chest. "Always you speak! Never do you listen! You ignored the lessons of Pandaria! Look upon my fur, young one. Darkness and light are etched into it, black and white. It is wisdom, a balance in all things material and immaterial. When the last emperor hid our land away from the world, he also preserved the homeland of our ancient enemy, the mantid. Do you know why he did this? He did so to keep the land whole. Living with the mantid for ten thousand years has made us both _strong_, and the same can be said for your Alliance and your Horde. They are not strong despite one another. No, they are strong _because_ of each other. You mistake your greatest strength for weakness. Don't you see?"

Wrathion's jaw moved, working to find the right words. All he could say was, "Y-You're just a waiter. A waiter! I'm a prince, dammit! I want to protect this world!"

"As do we all, but you are young yet. Young and very foolish." Tong picked up the tray and dusted it off.

Wrathion stamped his foot. "If there's anyone that deserves to be called a fool it should be the King for allowing the Horde to continue to exist! But the biggest fool of them all is that girl for getting involved in the first place!"

"Is that so?" he asked, as he carried the tray to a counter behind the bar. Setting it down, he turned around and stared at the dragonling. "Tell me. How much time do you think we have before this great storm hits us?"

Wrathion swallowed thickly. "I don't know. It's hard to say, but if I had to guess it would be in the next couple years. And that's being generous."

Tong hummed. "And you were going to peruse the might of both the Alliance and the Horde to counter it. Am I correct?"

"Yes." His brow furrowed and his teeth clenched. "But now that they are divided, we have no chance of weathering it!"

"Young prince, there are other ways of standing united without resorting to violence and domination. But the girl is right; there will always be people in the world that will refuse to change, no matter how many times you tell them to. The Celestials may disapprove of her action, but I believe they will understand why she did what she did."

He opened a door from the side of the stairway and pulled out a broom and dustpan. He walked past Wrathion, set the dustpan down, and began sweeping up the broken glass. "What's done is done," he said. "You cannot change that."

Wrathion growled. "No, I cannot. But I will promise you this: I will stop at nothing to prepare this world for the battle to come. Next time, I will leave nothing to chance. And next time, if that girl—whoever she is—gets in the way again, I will personally remind her who she is dealing with!" He went over to the door, stopped, and before their eyes he turned into a black dragon whelp. His little wings struggling to keep him aloft, he turned around and, in a ridiculously high voice so unlike the deep timbre of his human form, screeched: "NO ONE, AND NOTHING WILL INTERFERE!" Then he flew out and into the sky.

Armi and Mishka watched him go until he became a speck and was no longer visible.

Finally, Armi said, "You know I can never take him seriously when he does that."

"Yeah, me neither," said Mishka. "He certainly looks cute like that, but he could use a lot more work on trying to look deadly."

Behind them, Tong clucked his tongue. "He destroyed my inn and didn't leave a tip. He is not very nice." There was a clatter, and he looked up to see Banchou holding the empty dish in his mouth, staring back at him with his tail wagging. He chuckled. "You want more? Well, alright. Give me just a few and I'll refill it. After all, you and your friends saved Pandaria. Consider it on the house."


	2. No More Infinite

**2.  
****No More Infinite**

"Children of Nozdormu, hear me! The folds of time are innumerable, and we are many!"

The bodies of bronze drakonid and Timewalker defenders and weavers lay sprawled before the entrance to the Caverns of Time, their blood staining the pristine white sand. A wind picked up and tossed the grit over their unmoving forms and scattered weapons.

"We control the ebb and flow of time! The Infinite Dragonflight cannot, will not, be defeated!"

A flock of dragons closed in on the line of warriors positioned before the yawning chasm. Their scales ranged from midnight black to gunmetal gray, with white and blue cracks like thunder or ice rippling across their scales. They were not many, for the forms of their kin—from the mewling whelp to the dragonspawn whose aura reeked with the ozone of sorcery—also dotted the battlefield, their residual particles drifting and fading from the plane.

Hovering above his forces, Occulus who once was pure sneered down at the Timewalkers. "Make your time, mortals," he mocked. "Join us, before you are lost to the sands of eternity!"

"And you think killing everyone here will help pave the path toward a better future?"

Footsteps crunched against the sand, and there was a sound of steel unfolding.

The Infinites holding the rearguard turned, brandishing their weapons and charging their magic. Occulus swiveled his neck around, one pale blue eye assessing the newcomer. It was a human woman, and the first thing that leaped out at him was the mane of hair the color of roses. The second thing was a long red cape billowing on the breeze, a bloody stain against the clarity of night.

The last thing was the sword she carried, a most unusual contraption forged not from the hammer of a blacksmith but rivets and plates and articulation points that only an engineer had the skill to make.

Except no one in all of Azeroth were capable of such heights of genius. Where did she get that?

Occulus glared at her. What did it matter? She was either very brave or very foolish, and she was alone. "Impudent fleshling! You dare confront us? You know now what we have seen! The future must be changed for the betterment of all that live and all that shall!"

"You're condemning billions of people to their deaths," she growled.

"It is as the short-lived races say: 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions.' We are doing this for their own good, so that they may never weather the coming storm!" His eyes narrowed. "Is that what you want? Do you wish to see the world drown in a hail of hellfire and brimstone?"

"You and your ilk are no better than them." She flicked her wrist out, and the light of the moon played off the blade like a silvery ocean tide. Her pace picked up. "You'll bring only chaos into the world, and then where will your future be?!"

"You know not what you do!" Occulus roared. "Go, my brothers and sisters! Deal with this intruder! Break through their pitiful defense!" The Infinite dragons yelled and charged—one group at the human and the other at the Timewalkers. With furious beats of his wings Occulus whirled round and launched himself at her.

She met them head-on.

* * *

For Wrathion, watching people get beat up was a great way to relieve stress. It was hilarious, too, when it involved beings of higher power so much larger than the puny mortals. Like right now, where a group of adventurers were struggling to get past the waves of dust and debris Niuzao was kicking up. They were never going to get close to him if they kept _pushing_ and _shoving_ their way toward him while he was stamping his hooves like that.

But Wrathion just sighed and wiped the rain from his brow. Lucky him, he had to come on a day when someone left their rain stone floating around Light knew where. Shouldn't those Ordon have been wiped out by now? It was raining the day he tasked Armi and Mishka to a fight against one of the Celestials, and it was raining again when he dared them to cross the broken bridge with their new cloaks and beat the living crap out of Ordos just because. Was it coincidence that this idiot, whoever it was, kept leaving their stone behind, or was it just a spot of bad luck he was going through?

He adjusted the way he was holding the giant leaf to shield him from the pelting shower. The clouds were thick and dark and fat, rolling across the sky like tumbleweeds. A streak of lightning flashed, illuminating the island and casting shadows for the briefest of seconds.

From the satchel at his hip, Wrathion dug out the letter and slowly unfolded it. It was creased to all hell and there was a stain from where he had spat out his tea and dropped the mug to the floor, but the writing was still legible if a bit smeared. He squinted (even though as a dragon it wasn't necessary since it was far more superior to mortal eyesight) and read it once more:

"_To the Black Prince,_

_If you received this from one of your many Blacktalon agents, then it means the person I have given this to was unable to make contact with you. However, it doesn't matter who delivers it. Knowing you, I expect you'll be throwing a tantrum and demanding anyone to go out and bring back my head. Or alive, so that you may roast me over an open fire to eat. It's a common fantasy trope for dragons to relish human meat, isn't it? I knew a dragon once, too. He was a human who had a heart filled with Chaos, and he transformed into a dragon to bring about the end of the world to save the one he loved. It's a long story, but to make it short how does crashing a smaller world into the plane, killing everyone, and letting all their souls open the gate to the afterlife and thus shattering the timeways so that the past and the future doesn't exist anymore sound?_

_Anyway, I'll get to the point. Who I am and where I came from doesn't matter. What does matter are the things I've been hearing you are doing…or planned to. My source informed me you were going to have this orc—I think she said his name was Garrosh Hellscream—killed and have the last remaining human king dismantle the Horde and absorb them into his Alliance. Well, at least that's what some of the races under his banner tell me. Mostly night elves and gnomes and worgen and—I hope I spell this write—_druannai_, saying their nations' forces were being shafted in favor for humans and high elves because they were there first. When I asked how the dwarves felt, they just shrugged and said they didn't know what the big deal was. Neither do I._

_But I'm getting off track (and I've been doing that a lot these days). My source is a bottomless well of knowledge, and she filled me in on everything. The history of this world and the people that live on it in a really super-condensed format that was really like watching a silent five-minute movie in black and white…but most of all, she told me about the civil war. How Garrosh's thirst for power and conquest drove his Horde apart and the Alliance to seek vengeance for the deaths of the people that died in Theramore's destruction._

_At first I was going to let the Alliance and the Horde sort him out. While I believed he deserved a most painful death I felt it wasn't my place to take away the source of everyone's hate and sorrow. I was going to stay back and watch things play out._

_Then my friend told me about the parasite. The Old God, whose heart was locked away in a vault beneath Pandaria. She told me how Garrosh restored it in the sacred pools of the Vale and drained the land dry of life. He took the lives stationed there, too, but you already know that, don't you? You already know about how he was using that accursed thing to empower his 'True Horde' and himself to destroy his enemies and bring Azeroth to its knees._

_I'm not going to let that stand._

_So by the time this letter reaches you, I'll have already killed him. I'll have shot him in the back of the head, if you want to be exact. I would've liked to have taken care of the heart, too, but it just deflates and becomes a puddle of…I want to say muck, but it looks way too smoky to be congealed, so, uh, it's something. I guess? At least nobody will see me coming._

_I don't know what'll happen after that. My source isn't too sure, either, but the changes wrought from my actions will have a greater impact on the world than what would've happened if Garrosh were still alive. Who would want him to live, anyway? Not I, nor the Alliance or the Horde, for that matter._

_So what will you do now, Wrathion? How will you prepare the world for the return of the Burning Legion? It's been…almost five years since they last massed a full-scale attack? Or was it ten? Either way, it won't be long before they strike back._

_But I can help you. I know of a way we can stop them—"_

"What are you reading?"

Wrathion yelped and jumped. He let go of the letter, panicked, and snatched it back in his grasp before it could fall onto the wet stone at his feet. Looking up, he saw Kairozdormu leaning over his shoulder. The bronze dragon, in the guise of a golden-haired high elf, held the giant leaf in check. He carried a bamboo umbrella.

Kairoz grinned. "My! For a moment there, I thought you were going to fly off the ground like a goblin rocket!"

"And crash and burn?! Not a chance! How long have you been standing there?"

"Oh, I just got here. I saw you from across the court with the most intense expression I've ever seen, so I had to make my way on over and see what was up." He straightened his back and observed the ongoing battle feet away. "Those people aren't looking too hot."

"Some moron left their rain stone out again," Wrathion grumbled, inspecting the sheet of paper for damage.

"I figured that much," Kairoz sighed. "They must have been thinking it would provide them a challenge. At least they're trying, and that is something we must give them credit for. Even if their performance is a little…lackluster." He winced as Niuzao's hind legs bucked and caught an unfortunate adventurer in the gut, sending him crashing and rolling across the inner court.

Wrathion made a noncommittal sound and skimmed through the rest of the latter. "Kairoz," he said, "do you love Azeroth?"

"Eh? Do I love Azeroth?"

"That's what I said."

"Of course I do. It's my home, and as a bronze dragon it is my duty to ensure the stability of the timeline from external…and internal influences." He shot a cursory glance at a trio of Timewalkers—Belmaril and Bianca and Virgil seated at a table, eating. "My friends and family are worth fighting for."

"I see. And would you," Wrathion looked around the court, nodded, and lowered his voice, "would you change history, if it meant they could live to see another day?"

Kairoz shifted from one foot to the other, eyes shifting back and forth. "Well…as I am now, I can't."

"So let's say, hypothetically, you still had that power. Would you do it?"

"Yes. I would do it in a heartbeat." He frowned. "So would my brothers and sisters, if given the opportunity."

Wrathion exhaled a wistful sigh. "Sometimes I wish I could've been born a bronze. The ability to travel through time, unhindered, and change the course of events that now live on in infamy, so that no one will have to suffer. It makes me jealous."

"It makes me sad and angry. We can still observe the flow of time…but not as clearly as we used to. It feels like a part of me was torn out and crushed to a pulp." He tilted his head back and held out a hand, allowing it to be spattered with raindrops. "What I would give to have that power again. The Vision of Time just isn't enough."

Wration hummed thoughtfully.

They stayed like that for a while—the black dragon studying the creased letter, and the bronze dragon watching the fight between adventurers and the Celestial of Fortitude. They struggled against the clouds of dust kicked up by his hooves and some chased after him as he charged around the four corners of the arena, forcing long-range casters and hunters to scatter before he could reach them. Then he plodded, lowing, to the center, swinging his massive head to and fro at the melee fighters, summons, beasts, and ghouls. A paladin raised his shield just as the edge of the ox's horn swung out, and it tore a gash across its surface with the force of hurricane winds.

"Be vigilant in your stand, or you will never achieve your goals!" Niuzao bellowed. "You are the mountain unmovable by all but time!" He bleated as an array of fire spells and chaos bolts impacted his thick hide, and he whirled on them and tossed his head. The paladin slashed at one foreleg with his sword while a death knight attacked the other with his axes infused with shadowfrost. A priest rolled out of the way of a bucking hind leg and summoned a barrier of holy Light at their location.

The rain continued to fall. Lightning flickered and thunder rumbled. Birds chirped, cranes squawked, and, in the distance, a tiger roared. There was the stamping of feet against stone as adventurers picked themselves up off the ground and back into the fray.

Finally, Wrathion looked up. "Kairoz, do you have any of those timepieces left over? You know the ones Chronormu gave out to these adventurers to get here?"

Kairoz nodded. "Yes, I have one that I haven't used. They're quite easy to make, but only our blacksmiths affiliated with the Timewalkers are able to learn its secrets and ply their craft to its construction."

"You can set it to teleport you anywhere in the world, right?"

"That's right. It's like having your very own mage right in your pocket."

"Still one-time use only?"

"Well, we only just started making these after the Cataclysm. The Timewalkers hadn't been formed yet."

"Where do you have yours set to?"

"The Caverns of Time."

"Good! That'll save us a trip." Wrathion pushed himself to his feet.

"What is this about?" Kairoz asked.

"Come," said Wrathion, beckoning him. "Let's take a walk. I'll tell you everything there is to know and what you need to bring." He passed the letter to Kairoz, who took it and started reading.

As they were leaving the court, Niuzao shook himself fiercely and drenched the adventurers in mud, rainwater, and ectoplasm. He regarded them with cool appraisal. "Very good. Remember this: though you will be surrounded by foes greater than you can imagine, your fortitude shall allow you to endure."

* * *

Occulus froze as the sword punched through his breast and into his heart. The glow of the cracks along his body dimmed and faded like fireworks on New Year's Eve.

The Infinite dragon gazed down at the bloodied blade. He opened his mouth and issued a hoarse, bubbly croak. His wings sagged against his hide. His forelegs shook and wobbled unsteadily.

He looked back up at the woman before him, and somewhere deep inside him a dread chill shivered and gasped for air. Her face was hard, unforgiving, eyes a brighter and more glacial blue he had ever seen on a mere mortal. They were intense, and no matter how much he wanted to he could not tear away from them.

"I," he coughed, splattering the human's face with flecks of blood. "I just…want to…protect…this world…."

"Changing the past so you can make the future as you see fit is not the answer, you coward!" she cried, and with a twist of her arm ripped the sword up and out. A jet of black slashed an ink stain across the pristine white of the sand.

Occulus screamed, a high and mangled sound that flew upon the desert wind. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. Just as he hit the ground, as death moved in to claim his soul, a final thought flitted through his mind.

_What is so cowardly about defending my home?_

* * *

And so the last Infinite dragon fell and joined his brethren in embracing oblivion. The cold wind blew, scattering sand and time-displaced particles.

The Timewalkers lowered their weapons. Watsun the dwarf silently commended them for that, as he peered over the lip of his shield at the woman wiping down her sword with a stained rag. He took a step toward her, his grip firm around the handle of his mace. "'Twas quite the fight you put up there, miss," he said.

"This is nothing," she said, stowing away the cloth. A flick of her wrist and the sword _folded_ in on itself, to which she holstered it in a sling hanging on her waist. What a peculiar weapon. "I've fought gods more powerful and heinous than Deathwing and the Lich King combined."

More powerful and heinous, eh? The only beings that fit that description were the Old Gods buried far beneath the earth, the most recent one being Y'Shaarj in Pandaria. Watsun looked her over, taking in her attire. She wasn't wearing a tabard indicating her affiliation to the Alliance or any of the neutral organizations, and he didn't see a specific symbol on her cape. She must be adventurer, he reasoned, or a mercenary who was just passing by and saw the Infinite dragons pouring out of the portal.

Watsun nodded. "Well it was a good thing you arrived. This is the third attack we've had this week, each more troublesome than the last." He glanced sidelong at Occulus and pitied him. "He was a bronze dragon once. Used to keep watch in the skies with two others for a long time up until a year ago, when the world broke. The area north of us was overcome with floods, so he went there to help the goblins displaced by them. Said he would send us a correspondence when he was done." He shrugged. "We never heard back. It was like he just…disappeared. We wanted to look for him, but the Infinites were causing trouble with the timeways, not to mention Deathwing was on the loose and wreaking havoc. We couldn't spare anyone."

"You thought him for dead," the woman said. "You never expected him to have returned like that."

"Aye. Maybe he was kidnapped and brainwashed. Maybe he found truth to their cause and defected, used his absence as a ruse. It's anybody guess."

"It's over. They won't be bothering you anymore."

"For now. I was hoping they'd stay in disarray for, well, a long time, what with their leader being dead and all."

"Yeah," she said, staring at the drake's corpse.

Watsun looked at her, and then breathed a sigh that was both tired and relieved. Tired of the battle he and his comrades were engrossed in and relieved that this woman didn't show any inclinations of stabbing him in the back. Being in her presence was making him feel uncomfortable; the anger on her face, just as she plunged her sword into Occulus, was pure and intense and so very frightening. He did not let it show. "Whoever you are, I appreciate you getting us out of that jam." Truth be told, he wasn't expecting to leave the battle alive. He was positive the others must be thinking the same thing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my fellows and I have to take care of these bodies before it attracts any scavengers. Unless there's something I can assist you with?" After all, he wanted to return the favor.

"There is," she said. "I'm looking for a bronze dragon. His name is Kairozdormu. I was told that he would be here."

Watsun ran a hand through his beard. "Yes, I did hear he was coming back from Pandaria. He's been away for a few months now, investigating that strange timeless island that reappeared off the coast with my superiors. It's just him, though, so I'm guessing the rest will follow suit when they've finished."

"Do you know when he'll be arriving?"

"We received his message almost two days ago. Said he would be heading back to the mainland and find a mage to open a portal to the Theramore ruins. Personally I would opt for Thunder Bluff since it's closer to Tanaris, but I understand he doesn't want to make a scene showing up out of the blue in the middle of the city. I can't say when he'll be here. He could still be making some last-minute preparations."

"Good to know. Would you mind if I stuck around while I wait? I've never been here before, and if I'm going to meet with Kairoz I would like to familiarize myself with the area."

"Normally access to the Caverns is prohibited to all except those who have been made immortal by the bronze, but after the Aspects lost their powers and became mortal they've been accepting anyone who wishes to protect the timeways and the dragonflight." He sized her up again. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in joining us? I can put in a good word for you when my commander and her squad return."

"I appreciate the thought," said the woman, "but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. Personal matters."

What a pity. With her skills she could rise up through the ranks and provide a significant boost to their manpower. "I understand. If you ever change your mind just come here and talk to Andormu and Nozari. They are the leaders of the Timewalkers. Now," he said, regarding the bodies, "first things first, let's get these out of the way."


	3. No More Time

**3.  
****No More Time**

Wrathion shielded his eyes and gazed upon Pandaria spread far and wide below them from atop Mason's Folly. From the south he could see the lush green hills of the Valley of the Four Winds and the leafy woods of the Jade Forest roll away. Roofs made of red clay tiles and bamboo peaked through the canopies like the heads of giants. To the north and west lay the Ancient Passage, a burbling blue vein winding south through the land and breaching the horizon where it met the sea.

There were many other rivers in Azeroth, but none was so captivating and clear a jewel than the Passage. It made the breath hitch in his throat, stirring the vents housing the dragonflame deep within his throat. Nothing could dare match its majesty or the sight he was now beholden.

This was but a slice of the world, a crowning achievement. And if nothing was done soon, it would be awash in a tide of demons cold and heartless and burning everlasting.

"Are you sure we can trust her?" Kairoz asked from behind him. Wrathion turned to the bronze dragon incognito. In his high elf guise and sparkling, winged robes he cut a dashing figure that the other would have otherwise mistaken him as an enchanter of the Kirin Tor or the Sunreavers, for he carried a large hourglass filled with sand. Sand crushed and ground from epoch stones the warrior, the hunter, and many adventurers collected to power the Vision of Time.

Wrathion shook his head. "I don't know. I have never met her before, but the words in her letter seem sincere. I want to hear her for myself before I can say for certain what we should do next."

"You sound very confident. It's unlike you to be doubtful."

"I'd like to be believe her, I really do." His brow furrowed. "But it's because of her that we can't go ahead with our original plan."

"We still can. We don't need Garrosh to unite the clans and send them here through the Dark Portal. Can't you disguise yourself?"

Wrathion rolled his eyes. "If I could I would've done that a long time ago! And, well, in a few more years. I am _two_, you know. In _dragon_ years. And though I might be a rogue, I'm not some ninja that can replace himself with a, a, a log! That kind of stuff is for amateurs!"

"So you would do it, if you could."

"Exactly!"

"But not anymore."

A tic throbbed on Wrathion's upper right eyelid. "No. Not anymore." He looked upon the land again. Somewhere, in another part of the world, night was falling. The people and the animals over there would be getting ready for an evening of solitude or going to bed. Some would live to see another sunrise, but there would be others that would see their last sunset and die before the coming of the new day—perhaps due to illness or wounds sustained in battle.

How long would this last? How long before it became hell on earth?

"We will change the future, Kairoz," Wrathion declared. "Count on it."

"Yes," said Kairoz, studying the Vision of Time. "We will. If we have to destroy time itself, then so be it."

* * *

"…and here we have this timeway, which once was formed but has since collapsed," said Eradormi, in draenei form, and gestured to the woman the blocked tunnel. "This used to lead into the End Time, a potential future in which all life on Azeroth would be extinguished by the madness of Deathwing. But even he was not spared, for he had expended himself bringing about the apocalypse. It is thanks to the heroes of the Alliance and the Horde that they found our great leader Nozdormu and stopped the Infinite dragonflight from blocking his route back to the past." She looked at her, and saw the unease plain on her face. "What's wrong?"

The woman started. "Ah, sorry. Hearing that…It reminded me of something that happened to me a long time ago."

"My apologies. I hope I didn't bring up any bad memories."

"No, you're fine. What's done is done. That can't be changed."

A shadow passed over the custodian. "Yes, you're right. Still, there's the future to look forward to and protect. That is simply a duty we cannot forsake."

"Pardon me, ladies," said a dragon named Nil, coming up to them in high elf glamour, and looked to the mortal. "Kairozdormu has returned and is asking for you. He's also brought with him a guest, Wrathion of the black dragonflight. Is that alright with you? We were not told he would be with company."

"Let him stay. I had a feeling he wasn't coming alone, anyway. Where are they?"

"They're by the incline where you came in from. Shall I escort you, just in case?"

"No thank you, but I appreciate the offer." To the custodian she said, "Thanks for the tour. It was very informative."

"It was my pleasure," she said, and bowed low. "Come along, Nil."

They went their separate ways. The woman rounded the large circular platform holding up the Sands of Time, a massive hourglass spilling its grain into several overhanging bulbs. In the center a bronze dragon larger than the rest of his brethren slept, tail curled and head resting between forelegs rippling with muscle. This was Anachronos heir to Nozdormu the Timeless One, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

From the edge of her vision she caught Eradormi and Nil whispering amongst each other. They cast brief looks in her direction and then turned away. She did the same, passing by a lumbering drakonid without a word.

Kairozdormu and Wrathion stood at the base of the ramp, a pale-skinned high elf in glittering robes and a dark-skinned human in turban and clothing that reminded her distinctly of the type people in the Dead Dunes would wear. There was a spear strapped to his back, crackling with lightning, and it looked so large and thin on a small person like him. He brought to mind someone who fought with such a weapon, and the thought that went through her mind forced her to suppress the grin threatening to break.

The gunblade swung back and forth on its holster, the leather creaking.

"Kairozdormu. Wrathion," she began, looking each in turn. "I see you've brought what I asked."

"Aye, so we did," said Kairoz, nodding. "Although it's not really much of a secret; only the Timewalkers and the adventurers I've worked with know about the Vision of Time. I should like to present this to Lord Anachronos—"

"There's no need," she said. "Besides, it's not the right time. How many times have you used it, anyway? It might still require some fine-tuning."

"I've only used it six times, each turn more powerful than the last…but you do have a point. As you can see, I have pouches filled with the stuff that increases its power, but I haven't so much as touched it since before the assault on Orgrimmar."

"We will, eventually," spoke Wrathion. "The integrity of the world depends on it…depending on the plan you have in store for us, miss…?"

"You'll know my name soon enough," said the woman. "If all goes well we will put it into motion, and before you know it the Legion will be no more and Azeroth's future secure."

Wrathion nodded. "I will do anything to protect my home. I am a black dragon, the last true black dragon in existence, and by the decree of Khaz'goroth the Shaper and all the Titans it is my duty to reclaim my birthright forgotten by my father in his madness. Some may call me evil or a monster for how far I will go, but I simply see it as the only way to prepare everyone for the battle to come. I will unite them by force and assert my dominion over them if that's what it takes!"

"You'll get your chance, Wrathion. And yours as well, Kairoz. With this spear and this artefact, we will be elevated to heights hitherto unseen since the Dragon Aspects became mortal or even the Old Horde when they were imbued with the blood curse."

Wrathion's face darkened. "The Old Horde…I wanted to do something like that, had Garrosh lived. You wrote that your source saw that he would've been apprehended and put on trial for crimes against the world, yes? When I read your letter, I had come with the idea of breaking him out of prison and, with Kairoz's help, utilize the Vision of Time to send him back into the past, to Draenor, and reunite the orcish clans under one banner. With them he would seek revenge on his enemies but at the same time empower and advance the Mag'har to the level of technology that was present in the True Horde. Oh it would drive the draenei and the other races to war, and the orcs would carve their path of destruction to return to the present and fight against the Alliance and the Horde when they're currently worn from breaking the Siege, but it would have _united_ them. Brought them together against a common threat not seen since the First War, and it would test them as to whether or not they will come out of it stronger to counter the Burning Legion. Because, let's be honest, as they are now they don't stand a chance in hell. Those demons that came through the Dark Portal and staged their offensive in Outland and the Sunwell? They got _lucky_.

"But that chance is gone, and so too the timeline that would've been born from it. Garrosh may have turned the Horde—_Vol'jin's_ Horde—against him, but he had the right idea. He had the power, the arms to flatten the opposition and take what was his. Is it wrong? Very much so, but I never cared for ethical and moral alignments. He had the Kor'kron and the majority of the orcish force, along with goblin mercenaries and an eternally grateful blood elf turncoat, under his command. And he could've done it, if you hadn't killed him." Wrathion was now glaring openly at her, his frown severe, and eyes hard like steel and blazing red like the fire in a forge. Kairoz looked at him in a cocktail of awe, respect, and a little fear.

The woman, however, shrugged. "I don't regret what I did. It had to be done."

"You may have very well damned the world to its doom. Do you want that on your conscience?"

"I don't…but I think the Alliance and the Horde are strong. Maybe not now, but in time they will. They have to recuperate and mend their relations."

"But it's impossible! They're divided! A divided world can't stand against the might of the Legion!"

"It doesn't matter to me if the Alliance exists because of the Horde or the Horde exists because of the Alliance. They're strong, stronger than you realize."

"But not strong enough!" Wrathion said, exasperated. "Don't you understand?"

"I do. I just don't agree with you. But I have faith in them. Perhaps they will have the strength and courage to tackle the task we give them."

"I very much doubt it."

"Maybe she is right," said Kairoz. "They are divided, yes, but in a sense they are united. I have heard that all the leaders came together and decided upon the terms of their treaty, so they're not fighting. It wouldn't bode well for any of us if they did years from now when the Legion comes. We can't have that." He put a hand over the Vision of Time hanging on his belt. "My brother and sisters don't want that, either. They have become lost without their power, but soon I'll bear them this gift. It will make them glad and strengthen not only their spirits but their resolve to fight."

"Even if it's against their own brethren and the mortal races they swore to protect."

"Yes," he said, sadly. "Like Wrathion said, I will do anything to keep Azeroth safe. To go back on my word would bring shame not only on myself but to everyone I love and know."

"We won't fail them. We'll stop the Legion before they ever step foot on this land."

"That's if Kairoz and I deem your plan appropriate for our case," said Wrathion.

"That's right," she said. "I've been so busy rambling I almost forgot about it." Wrathion shot her an incredulous look that screamed _You can't be serious_. "Sorry about that, I tend to go off-track these days."

"We shouldn't talk here," said Kairoz. "Let's go to the tavern. Upstairs, preferably. I'll have Alexston bring us some drinks and sheets of parchment so that we may write and take note of any ideas we can think of. Play off our strengths and weaknesses until it's perfect."

"Good idea," agreed Wrathion.

"Before that," said the woman, "may I have a look at the artefact?"

"Oh, of course! You've never seen anything like it before, I take it?" Kairoz undid the ties securing it and, with surprising gentleness, passed the Vision of Time to her. "Be careful not to turn it too much. We're standing on an endless web of time, and you may not like what you see."

She spun it around in slow, small circles, noticing its every detail with interest. "So this allows you to see into the future, yes? It doesn't take you there."

"No. It can only see into specific moments in time, moments that may or may not come to pass."

"I see," she said, more to herself than to the dragons. "Yes, I see it now." She admired it, turned it over again—

Then the magic sparked in her hands, and she flung it at their feet. The glass shattered, spilling sand everywhere.

Kairoz jumped back, horrified. "N-No! What have you done—!"

She ran him through.

* * *

"_YOU BITCH!"_

Alexston Chrome, the bartender for the Tavern of Time, whirled around. "What the hell?"

Watsun shoved his tankard into his hands. "Stay here!" He unsheathed his shield and mace and ran down the ramp. The Light thrummed in his hands.

When he reached the bottom, his mouth flew open.

There were bodies sprawled in a circle and leading away in a jagged line towards the Sands of Time. The bodies of _bronze dragons_, in guise and in true form, their blood seeping out from cruel wounds onto the desert like ink blots. They did not move.

Two things caught his eye as he observed the gruesome scene, and each made the hairs on the back of his neck and forearms stand to attention and his throat run dry.

The first was that the fallen were exuding black particles that dispersed in the air. On their skin were blotches of black scales struck with blue and off-white veins.

The second was the woman, who had taken out the party of Infinites outside the Caverns of Time, send the spear Wrathion was holding flying and knocking him to the ground.

A high elf and a draenei garbed in the mooncloth robe of custodians rushed at her from behind, large black wings bursting from their shoulders. Their talons extended from wrists too small to bear their weight.

She spun on the balls of her feet, she was upon them like lightning, her sword winking in and out like a mage's blink. Watsun watched, barely registering the grip loosening on his weapons. The warm comfort of the Light fled, leaving only cold reality.

Eradormi and Nil collapsed where they stood, their last sounds on earth a short, despairing gasp.

Footsteps pounded behind Watsun, and he didn't look to know it was Alexston. "Sweet, merciful Light!" he exclaimed.

"Come out, cowards!" the woman cried. Her front was splashed with dark blood, her sword dripping a silent testament. "Come, and embrace the dirge of your demise!" A crowd had gathered from afar, mortals and dragon alike, frightened and shocked speechless. Some Timewalkers and drakonid had their weapons drawn and readied.

From his perch Anachronos reared, wings trembling and bearing his fangs. "What is the meaning of this?" he snarled, and rumbling forth from the lowest and deepest recess of his cavernous chest.

The woman regarded him coolly, but then she saw Wrathion on his knees struggling to find purchase on his feet. She swung the sword out and he stopped cold, staring down cross-eyed at its bloodied tip. He swayed, stumbled, and fell back on his haunches.

To Nozdormu's heir, she said, "Look around you. These people you've called family and friends? They were sleeper agents of the Infinite dragonflight! Some of them you've known for centuries, for thousands of years, waiting for the day to overthrow you all!"

"I see what you see just as clearly, and it shames me that I had not seen this sooner." He gazed upon them, the patches of dark scales like rashes, and the vaporous mist breaking down their very beings that would not even leave dust behind. "No, not only ashamed but furious that I didn't think to investigate further, though it leave many of my kin uncomfortable."

"It would've happened either way, but your lack of foresight might have cost everyone their lives."

Dragonfire hissed from his nostrils. "It might have, but it might not. The future is beyond our ken. I was remiss in my duties; that I will not excuse, and your actions I shall pardon. But what you have done to Kairozdormu"—he eyed the disguised high elf, on his back and clutching the fatal wound on his chest that ended him, staring in horror and grief at a perpetually starry night—"I cannot forgive. He did nothing wrong!"

"Nothing wrong?" She swept her sword at the remains of a broken hourglass. "Do you see that? That was an artefact your 'friend' had made from stones comprised of solidified time he had adventurers collect for him on the Timeless Isle to look into possible futures."

The crowd gasped, and they murmured among one another. Anachronos stretched his neck out, intrigued. "He did this? And it was successful?"

"Yes, it _was_. And he was going to show it to you all." The woman glared at Wrathion, and he quailed beneath her. "He would show you the final moments of your lives."

"He would never do that! What proof do you have?"

She took a step toward Wrathion. "Why don't we tell him, son of Deathwing?"

He backed away, groping blindly for the spear. "Tell him? Tell him what? I know nothing!"

Another step. "I don't think you do. I _know_ you do." Step. "Let's tell him how Kairoz would've used the artefact to open a path to the past—to Draenor, in the years before it fell to the might of the Old Horde." Step. "Let's tell him how you would've gone back disguised as the late Garrosh Hellscream, persuade the clans from imbibing in the blood of Mannoroth, swear off the practice of dark arts, and unite them all under a single banner of orcish supremacy." Step. "With the few Kor'kron and goblin loyalists you had left, you would've smuggled the iron star technology and a great number of arms to supply the clans. You would appoint Grom Hellscream, Garrosh's father, as leader of this Iron Horde and leave them to their devices. To test the draenei, to see how well they would fare against them."

Step. "In the two years you would stay on Draenor, the Iron Horde would've almost completely wiped them out. Their reach would spread far and wide across the continent, clash against the proud arakkoa and the clans that refused to join them; and when they would become too bloodthirsty to be contained, you and that _traitor_ would activate the Dark Portal you would've had them construct and lead the charge into the Blasted Lands." Step, step, step. "And to think: this would all be done for the good of Azeroth! Because the Alliance and the Horde stand not united but divided!"

"She's lying!" Wrathion shouted at Anachronos. "I don't know what she's talking about—!" He looked up at her and she looked down at him, a storm of anger and disgust on her face.

"Did you ever stop to think who else you might bring to your quest?" she said quietly, dangerously. "Did you stop to think what would happen to the Iron Horde after they were done? You didn't, did you?"

"We have to protect this world!" he cried. "If we don't do something, the Legion will overwhelm us!"

"Your actions would've brought the Legion through the Portal and the end of the world as you know it!"

Wrathion grit his teeth. His hand found the haft of the spear, grabbed it, and lunged at her with a cry. She dodged to the side and kicked him across the face as he turned. He let go of the weapon and dropped to the floor. A chipped fang sprang from his mouth and stabbed point-first into the sand.

The woman appraised the crowd, the Timewalkers and drakonids falling into defensive stances, the mortals shrinking when her eyes passed over them. Alexston flinched. Watsun licked his lips and adjusted his hold on the mace.

Anachronos dug his claws into the platform with such force chunks of stone crumbled underneath. He looked at Wrathion, at the bodies, at the woman, and then at Wrathion again. "This was your doing?"

Wrathion pushed himself into a sitting position, clutching his mouth. He spat out a wad of blood and said through the swelling, "It's her fault! She started this whole mess by killing Garrosh! It's because of her this world will die!"

"Wait!" said Watsun, and suddenly all eyes turned toward him. The woman only glanced at him. "That was you?"

"It was," she said. "If I hadn't stepped in, everyone would've been fighting to get the final blow."

"What about the ceasefire?" Alexston said. "Did you talk them into it, or did you force them?"

"I did no such thing. They didn't expect me to pop in like that, that's for sure."

"But how long will it last?" asked one of the mortals, a female gnome. "The last time they held a ceasefire Putress and his Forsaken rebelled and covered the Wrathgate in blight, and look at how that turned out!" Everyone murmured their agreement.

"It won't be long before another war breaks out."

"Their peace is tenuous at best."

"They're getting along so far, but anything can happen."

"Did the King do the right thing?"

"Can Vol'jin restore honor to the Horde?"

"What about the other nations? Are they okay with this?"

"I sure as hell bet that wench Sylvanas isn't!"

"If it doesn't last, the Legion will surely overtake us!"

Anachronos grunted and swerved his great head toward the woman. "So, child, what comes next? The line of Hellscream is no more but the Alliance and the Horde coexist and recuperate, moving toward an uncertain future. The Infinite dragonflight are still at large, and without this _artefact_ we will be unable to guess when they will strike again."

"Nothing's set in stone, but you can be prepared for it. You have your Timewalkers if they try to tamper with the past."

"Except they have the advantage. Since this has all stemmed from your doings, how will you fix this?"

The woman threw her head back and laughed, a rough and sultry sound that would have come off as pleasant under different circumstances. Then she sobered up, pointing the sword at Anachronos. "The only things that need fixing are the Infinite dragonflight and the Burning Legion, but I'll cross that road when I get there. The first order of business…will be taking care of _you_."

The bronze dragon sneered. He rose to his full height and unfurled his wings. "You dare to challenge me, heir to Nozdormu? Don't be foolish! It is not my time."

"The time of the bronze dragonflight will eventually come to an end, and your father will fall to madness. So why wait for to happen when I can eliminate the threats from within while I'm here? As you are now, you're not going to get anywhere unless it's under _my_ command."

"You play a dangerous game. A game you have no chance at winning."

"Oh, this won't take long." She snapped her fingers, conjuring a spark of lightning. "Not long at all."

The Timewalkers and drakonids gathered themselves and rushed at her. Anachronos tensed the powerful muscles in his legs, and his talons broke chunks off the platform. Watsun and Alexston stood and Wrathion lay where he was, watching as they closed in on the woman. She stood there, unmoving, the expression in her eyes shadowed by the fall of her unusually pink hair.

She lifted the sword before—

"What in the Lady's name are you doing, _Lightning?_"

And nearly stumbled head over heels as a bolt of energy slammed right in front of her. There was a sound of thunder, and the force created a shockwave that blew away the Timewalkers and pushed Anachronos's wings fast against his body. A gout of sand erupted like a geyser.

The woman, Lightning, had thrown her arm up to block the shower from hitting her eyes, so when she lowered it she couldn't help but blanch at the girl before her. Actually, she couldn't take her seriously with those feathers tucked in her silvery hair and the white slip hanging off her waifish frame; she reminded her of a chocobo. Her arms were crossed over her chest, looking very unamused.

"Y-Yeul!"

"You had one job, Lightning. _One._ That job is done. This?" She indicated the sweep of dead Infinites, startled Timewalkers and drakonids, and a very confused Anachronos, with a nod of her chin. "This wasn't on the agenda. _At all._"

"I was going to save the world," Lightning ground out. "From the Legion. From themselves. I'm doing them a favor!"

"No, Lightning," Yeul sighed. "You would be doing the same thing as Garrosh did, were he still alive. Anyone protesting a one-world government under the rule of a _total stranger_ would be crushed without a second thought."

"But—!"

"We're going home now. We've made too many changes to their true timeline, and I'd rather not be around when Nozdormu returns."

"He probably already knows!"

"And he's going to be very angry if he finds us here. Come now, let's go."

Lightning shook her head. "We can't stop here. Think of how much we can improve the quality of life on this world! Think of how many lives we can save and the lives we can end by altering history in a way that'll give Azeroth the fighting chance against the Legion!"

Yeul sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose. "While your intentions are very noble, I can't allow this to continue any further. I had a feeling this would happen, so I came up with a Plan B."

Lightning huffed. "You're going to forcibly remove me from this universe whether I like it or not?"

"I could do that, but that would be too easy and not as amusing."

"So what? What's this big, bad trick you have up your sleeve? Because try as you might, I'm not budging."

And just as she had finished saying that two more bolts struck behind Yeul, followed by a third that almost seemed delayed. Amid the clouds of sand, the energy formed and solidified into two human shapes and a small, round shape.

Lightning's mind went blank. "You didn't," she said.

"I did," said Yeul, smirking.

The young man lay where he was, spreadeagled, his legs falling to the ground with a _thump_. "I think I broke something!" he groaned.

The little creature with the bright pink nose and the giant wand in its hand flew around in a circle, the crystal on its head swaying with the movement as he took in his surroundings. "I don't think we're in the new world anymore, kupo!"

Then there was the young woman, shorter in stature and femininely thin, but her hair was the same bright pink and her eyes the same glacial blue. She went right up to Lightning and jabbed a finger at her chest. "Claire Farron, what have I told you about attempting world domination?"


	4. No More Stranger

**4.  
No More Stranger**

Halfhill Market was bustling with activity. The flames were roaring in the ovens, the _ogatan _and _binchotan _on the grills exuding smoke and popped grease, the still pumping exorbitant amounts of beer and tea. The Ironpaws were hard at work—grilling, steaming, sautéing, roasting, searing, boiling. Adventurers putting in their time took orders from customers and called out ticket numbers to those waiting for their food. Some were chopping and dicing fruits and vegetables, flipping the meat, and stirring noodles.

Mishka, who was in the process of removing the fibers off carrots lined up on a cutting board, looked over at the person next to her and pulled a face. Holding the bottle of alcohol high above her head, Armi poured a steady stream of the amber-colored liquid into a pan of tiger steak. "Light be damned, Arm, you add any more and you'll blow up the place."

"This is how the chefs do it in Ironforge," she said, raising her voice over the hubbub. She grabbed a bottle of cinnamon beneath the counter and sprinkled the meat with it.

"Oh yeah. That was during the Midsummer Fire Festival, wasn't it? When they were grilling out by the entrance."

Armi laughed. "Yeah, there were a lot of Horde fellows comin' up the upgrade trying to douse the bonfire. I think they came straight from Kharanos." She brought out a box of matches.

"Didn't that one chef soak his pans with booze and launched them with that contraption?" Mishka finished dicing the carrots and slid them into a pot of boiling water. She took a couple potatoes sitting off to the side, set down the knife, and took the peeler off the rack.

"Hmm, which one? There were a lot of dwarves and gnomes that day."

"I think his name was Sognar?"

"Oh, I remember him now! The meat vendor!" Armi fumbled with the match, caught it, and struck it against the coarse strip along the box. A tiny flame danced atop the tip. "One of the guys in Tinker Town made that battery-powered multi-armed catapult that could be triggered with the press of a switch."

"That was a helluva mess."

"But it cooked that ram good, too!"

"The poor bastard didn't know what hit it."

"My stomach says otherwise." Armi smacked her lips. "That was some damn good meat." She touched the match to the puddle of alcohol and a pillar of blue flame roared to life with a _whoomph_. "Whoa!" she exclaimed loudly, jumping back. Customers, adventurers, and a few Ironpaw patrons looked their way.

"Don't just stand there! Get it off the grill and mix it!" Mishka yelled, staving off the wave of heat with a hand. Banchou, who was hungrily watching a worgen deliver stir-fry to a table, got on all fours and barked.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Armi snatched the pan by the handle and brought it off and away from her. Grease crackled and the steak sizzled.

"There you go! Keep it away from you until the flame goes down!"

Armi laughed nervously and moved her wrists around so that the meat would stir. "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!"

"That's my girl!"

A few minutes later, when the dishes were fully cooked, Anthea Ironpaw came to their station to take them. "I hope that bottle of alcohol you used wasn't infused with cindergut peppers! You could probably see that flame a mile away."

Armi dabbed at her sweaty face with a kerchief. "Oh, that's nothing! One time I was riding my horse on the Arathi Highlands when Deathwing came flying out of the blue and breathed fire all over the place! I was practically standing right in it!"

"Well it looks like you didn't overcook it," the pandaren said, inspecting the plate. "You might want to go easy on the alcohol next time. Or stick with putting in a little bit of oil after you drain it. You don't need a high flame to get the meat going."

"I'll keep that in mind next time," she said, chuckling.

"Dammit, Armi, you had me worried for a second," Mishka griped. Banchou, having resumed his task of people-watching and food beyond his reach, craned his neck back, tongue lolling over the side of his mouth. The high elf petted him between the ears.

"I'll get these out of the way," Anthea said, and took a dish in one paw. "Oh, before I forget—I have an order for you." She reached into a vest pocket and withdrew a slip of paper. "A bowl of Pandaren Treasure Noodle Soup with a cup of ginseng tea."

Armi took the slip. The order was written in swift, blocky strokes, characters of a language shared by all the common races in Pandaria and one many an adventurer and mercenary learned to read before the campaign went into full swing.

"Table thirteen," Mishka said from over her shoulder. "That's way in the back." They looked up and spotted it, a linen cloth with the character for 'thirteen' standing in black ink. There sat a single person, whose chin was bent as if in deep thought.

Their eyes almost bugged out of their sockets.

"It's her!" Mishka whispered.

_"What are you doing here?!"_ Armi cried.

Anthea jumped. The woman's head snapped up, revealing a mop of shocking pink hair and a pair of startled blue eyes that found all others looking right back at her.

The worgen who had served the plate of stir fry regarded her. "That's right," he said. "You're the one who killed Garrosh Hellscream!" There was a commotion as people got up from their seats and crowded around her table or stood to get a better look.

"Wow, it is her!" said a tauren.

"Da Dealbreakah!" said a troll in her thick accent.

"No, no!" said a goblin. "The _Tie_breaker!"

"You're all wrong!" shouted a dwarf, wielding two tankards sloshing with beer. His cheeks were blooming with roses. "It's _Ty'thar_! 'Cause she floats like a dragonhawk and stings like a scorpid!" Those around him scoffed and groaned.

"Does she look like a troll to you?!"

"That ain't her name, you dolt!"

"It's Yuurei!" said a pandaren. "It's got to be, because she's like a ghost!"

"Aye, that's right!"

"So she is!"

"Half the time I forgot she was even there!"

"Truly she is a ghost!"

"But she moves so fast!" said a night elf. "Like quicksilver!"

"No," said a blood elf. "Like lightning!"

"Yes, that must be it!"

"She's there one minute and gone the next!"

"Lightning, the Gunslinger!"

"Lightning, the Army of One!"

Then they closed in on her, and they bombarded her with a deluge of questions. Asking how she moved so fast and quietly without drawing Garrosh's attention, how she made to appear invisible or out of sight when everyone thought she was never with them to begin with, if she was born with that hair color or if she dyed it or if she was that rare specimen that was the half-elf, if she had ever learned from the Kirin Tor or the Sunreavers, what kind of weapon that was and who made it.

The woman exhaled sharply through her nostrils. She stood and they backed away to give her space. Then she slammed her hands hard against the table, startling them into silence.

"You two!" she called, and like a hive of mantid everyone turned toward Armi and Mishka. Anthea said something that sounded meekly like "oh!" Banchou barked once, hips swaying with the force of his wagging tail. The human and the high elf ogled her.

The woman sighed, her stern expression dissipating to one of resignation. Her shoulders sagged. "If you want to know more about me, make me my meal. I'll meet you in that house." She nodded toward Sunsong Ranch.

Armi and Mishka looked at each other. "Us?!" said Mishka, pointing a finger at the two of them.

"Well you're the only ones I've spoken to at length. So hop to it." She sidled over her leg over the bench and walked away, and everyone watched her go. Some looked at Armi and Mishka, out of curiosity and out of envy.

Disappointed and grumbling, they dispersed and returned to what they had previously been doing. The customers continued on with dinner. The adventurers that had not moved from their stations shrugged, adjusted their aprons, and went back to work.

Anthea took the other plate. "I'll see if I can get Sungshin-obaa-san to let you guys off a little early," she said. "Something tells me that woman isn't going to stick around for much longer."

"If that's the case," said Armi, "then let's make it with all we've got! We can do this, Mishka. Everyone knows noodle soup and booze—

"And tea."

"And tea! Are the ambrosia and nectar of Pandaria!" Armi clapped her hands. "We've got this! I believe in you! Let's make this a meal for her to remember!"

* * *

A few minutes later, the dish was done.

"Do you think it's enough?" Armi asked, peering intently into the bowl's contents like a cat on its hind paws looking out through a window. "I mean, there's enough broth and veggies to fill her up, right? I hope we didn't put too much meat in there!"

"It's fine, Armi," said Mishka. "Anyone who's not a pandaren knows that a bowl of Pandaren Treasure Noodle Soup is supposed to be extremely filling. The tea's on the house for that obligatory Zen moment when you're digesting everything—"

"And the world around you." Armi looked toward the Sunsong Ranch. The woman was not there, or at least not outside standing around. "What do you think she's been up to?"

"That's what we're going to find out."

"But why us? Why not someone like King Varian or Go'el? They're much more important than we are."

"She mentioned Wrathion, remember? So that means she must've heard about us working for him. As far as I'm concerned no one in the Alliance or the Horde really _knows_ him except by word of mouth."

"Point taken." Armi picked up the bowl while Mishka took the cup of ginseng. "Somehow, I feel like talking to her will end up being very eye-opening."

"It damn well should be. I still can't figure out how that weapon of hers even works!"

"It's a sword that turns into a gun that turns into a sword. How hard is that to figure out?"

_"Armi."_

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! I'm just as curious as you are, Mishka!"

"Then let's go. We stay here any longer and the food'll get cold."

"Yes, yes!" Armi giggled and followed the high elf. Banchou tagged behind her.

When they arrived at the ranch, they found the door open. "I'm in here," came the voice of the woman.

"Coming!" Armi broke out in a grin and scurried up the steps.

"Don't drop it!" Mishka called after her. She clicked her tongue, shook her head and made to move when Banchou cut in front of her. She huffed and rolled her eyes.

The woman was kneeling on a _zabuton_, hands folded atop the low-end table. Her cape was folded off to the side, the spaulder lying on top of it. The holstered sword-gun was next to it. "Is it ready?"

Armi nodded vigorously and set the bowl in front of her. "One order of Pandaren Treasure Noodle Soup—plus a small cup of ginseng—coming right up! As the locals say, take your time and enjoy."

"Where I come from we don't have this 'ramen', and turtle soup is pretty much considered a delicacy. The ones at home are as big as Orgrimmar and very hard to kill."

"No kidding!"

"I find it hard to believe," said Mishka, placing the cup on a White Tiger coaster. "The biggest creature we've seen was a kunchong way out west in the Dread Wastes. That thing would wreck your turtle."

"Maybe. But the Long Gui are enormous and powerful. They'd crush your 'kunchong' flat, but that's just the experience talking." She picked up the pair of chopsticks and turned them over. "Am I supposed to eat with these?"

"Yeah, you break them in half," said Armi. "It's kinda like eating with a fork. Sort of."

"Like a fork, huh?" The woman broke them with a wooden snap, held them in a grip like one would hold a pencil, and dipped them in the bowl. She fumbled keeping them still, but after a few tries she coiled the noodles and popped them in her mouth. "…This is really good," she said after a moment of repose.

"It is, isn't it? The first time we tried it we couldn't even finish it!"

"Then I will take my time. I have much to tell you."

"Yeah, like that weapon." Mishka plopped herself down, cross-legged, and leveled a serious stare at the holster. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a gunblade." The woman reached out and drew it forth in its sword form. "When I was a soldier, this was a weapon only the elite could carry. It's no Blazefire or Overture, but its craftsmanship is amazing given the materials it was forged with." With a flick of her wrist the sword folded up and back along the bifurcated fuller. Then she flicked it again and the blade flung out, covering the barrel. "It's like a multi-tool."

Mishka stared at it, awed, tilting her head this way and that. "That's incredible. We don't have weapons like that. The only multi-tool we have is a gnomish army knife that has a fifty-percent chance of shocking someone back to life."

"We had something like that at one point. Potions called Phoenix Downs. The phoenixes from whose feathers they were made from don't exist anymore, and spells that raise dead more or less come at the cost of sacrificing your own."

"Where did you come from?" Armi asked, kneeling next to Mishka on the cushion. "Are you from one of the islands that drifted apart after the Cataclysm? Or maybe a place like Pandaria, covered in mist? Well, regular mist, that is."

The woman put down the gunblade, picked up the bowl, and drank its broth. With a contented sigh she set it on the table. She made to speak only to pause. "You want to hear, too, don't you?"

The quilen was standing off to the side by the doorway, watching. He licked his lips and stared at her, eyes wide and attentive. Mishka twisted around, beckoning him. "'S alright. Just mind yourself." Banchou went and lay down between his mistress and the stranger a few feet away. He glanced at the bowl, at Mishka's warning look, and sighed. "Go on. We're listening." Armi nodded.

"Well, let's get the introductions out of the way first," said the woman. "My name is Claire Farron, but you can call me Lightning. I'm not from this world, like the draenei are from Argus or the orcs are from Draenor. Matter of fact, I'm not even from this universe, where eldritch beings such as Titans and Old Gods roam the Great Dark Beyond. No, I come from a world currently without a name, a new world reborn from the ashes of the old. A world no longer under the sway of gods. Once I fought under the service of them, first as a Knight of Etro the Goddess of Death, and then as a hunter of souls of Bhunivelze, the God of Light. My life was one of ceaseless vigil, atoning for a crime I was directly responsible for, and at one point I had even given up trying to save myself. But people change, and gradually over time I rebelled against the God of Light and ushered in the rebirth of the world."

"If you don't mind me asking," Armi said, looking at her oddly, "but what crime was that? You don't look like you'd just up and cause trouble. I mean, some people might say one side or the other deserved to kill Garrosh, but—and I know this will sound cold—I think it was the right thing to do."

"My crime was worse than those Hellscream committed."

"You don't have to tell us if you don't want to," said Mishka. "It's not our place to ask, but Armi's always been a very curious person."

Lightning gazed deeply into the bowl of soup, clicking the chopsticks together idly. "I sent my sister to her death."

"I'm sorry!" said Armi. "I really shouldn't have brought that up."

"It's fine. It was in the past. The old world's past. You can rest assured that she's alive and well. Back then, when I was a Knight, there was a man named Caius Ballad who sought to destroy time itself so he could save the girl he loved. I couldn't stray outside my station for too long, so I sent my sister Serah and her friend Noel through the timeways to stop him from changing the future."

"Don't you mean changing the past?" Mishka asked.

"The future has just as much of an effect on history. If you change the future you change the past; your actions would send ripples across both spectrums of the timeline and alter them significantly." She imbibed in the broth again, then continued, "The future they changed was one that would've spelled the end of the world, but from the very beginning they had played into that man's goal. He succeeded in killing the Goddess of Death and unleashed Chaos upon the world, causing the past and future to cease to exist. Those that survived the onslaught were made immortal—ageless and impotent but still vulnerable to human suffering. But my sister died; what was supposed to be a sacrifice to protect time had been a meaningless death, and I shouldered that burden. I slept, and I preserved those memories—and my guilt—for five hundred years."

Their jaws dropped. "You're five-hundred years old?!" exclaimed Mishka.

Lightning scratched at a cheek. "Well, uh, if you want to get technical then I'm at least one-thousand-twenty-one years old. I spent half that time in the Void Beyond."

"You don't look a day over twenty!" said Armi.

"Actually if I hadn't been dragged into the Void so suddenly I would've been one-thousand-twenty-four. It was three years before Noel arrived at my sister's home and they left to find me." She dropped her hand. "It feels like a dream sometimes. In a way, I was almost never there for them. I couldn't save my sister from dying, I couldn't save Noel from thinking it had been his fault for destroying time, and I couldn't save my friends as they drifted apart and fell into despair. As the centuries passed and the Chaos swelled to engulf the world, I slept. I slept, and I did nothing."

"And five hundred years later, you woke up and began to hunt souls," said Mishka.

Lightning nodded. "It's a crude way of putting it, but that was what I did. Bhunivelze set me on the task of saving as many souls as I could. The world was going to end in thirteen days, and on the final day he would transport all the souls to the new world he fashioned for them to be reborn."

"But why you? Don't get me wrong, I don't doubt your ability to perform a given task. But if he was a god he could've saved all those souls himself. What was he doing?"

Her face hardened. "He was waiting. Waiting for me to finish and make the transition, only instead of humanity living of its own free will he would take it away. He would've made them his puppets and I the new Goddess of Death, whether I liked it or not. Not even Caius, the only person who refused to be saved, would've been spared, for he now belongs in the unseen realm with Yeul his friend and the new Goddess of Death as a shepherd for the dead." She sniffed disdainfully. "I only agreed to be Bhunivelze's savior on the condition he would bring my sister back to life, and he would have…."

"But only as a shell," said Armi, and she shuddered. "That's terrible!"

"It is. You can't imagine how pissed I was when I found out. That was when I really played the role of savior, except this time against a god had no love for mankind. So I slew him, and together with my friends, my sister, and the world we were reborn. At last we were free from the yoke of deities." She lifted the cup to her lips. "Ah, but I did have my share of allies. Eidolons, we called them. They're like the Ancients of this world, servants of the goddess Etro. My Eidolon was Odin, and he aided me in my quest. However, Eidolons cannot exist in the new world, and so they left to be reincarnated. He was a good friend and faithful to the end."

She smiled and closed her eyes, savoring the taste of tea. "Sometimes, I think about where my life is going. I used to be quite the bitch, actually, always cold and distant. I enlisted in the army after I graduated high school and became a Sergeant to protect my sister. She had a boyfriend named Snow. I couldn't stand him. He was cheerful and stubborn, obnoxiously so, and he thought himself a hero. I felt like he was taking her away from me. She was the only family I had left, you know? Our father died in an accident and our mother succumbed to illness, so I left my childhood behind to support both of us. So when Snow asked for my blessing I lashed out at him. There was a few times where I even physically attacked him, told him he didn't deserve her.

"To be perfectly honest, I didn't want to be alone. I wanted companionship, assistance, and it took me a long time to realize that. A thousand years ago all three of us and a few others were marked for death. In the old world, magic was made manifest if you became l'Cie. The fal'Cie, who were the children of the gods, made the l'Cie and granted them a quest. You were only given vague hints and you were sent on your way. You didn't finish it in time, you were turned into a monster. If you did you get to spend eternity turned into crystal until the fal'Cie needed you again. When I became a l'Cie, the first thing I wanted to do was destroy the world Serah asked us to save. If not for the people I was with, I would have done just that. I wouldn't have changed into the person you see me now. What a fool I was."

All throughout Armi and Mishka listened with rapt attention. Banchou had curled into a ball and tucked his head between his paws, but his eyes were alight with the same inquisitive light. Lightning slowly worked her way through her meal.

After a few moments, Armi was the first to speak. "You had a helluva life, Miss Lightning."

The soldier blushed. "Just Lightning will do. No need for formalities. But yes, there was never a dull moment, so far as I can recall. For almost my whole life I've been fighting, never one to sit still and be at ease."

"So what do you do now?" asked Mishka.

"I live a life of peace. I put up my gunblade and began anew in a quiet little town. Every now and then I'll take the train to the suburbs to be with my friends. Go out to eat, see a movie, even hit the clubs. It felt strange at first…but now…now it feels good. Refreshing."

"You can finally relax, and so can we. Hopefully for good. Before you came along, the Alliance and the Horde had been fighting for nearly twenty-five years. There's still a lot of bad blood and it might take years for old wounds to mend, but I think we'll be more united than we were before to defend Azeroth. Wrathion said the Burning Legion is coming back."

"They will. As for when, not even I can say for certain. I believe Vol'jin will make a great leader and restore honor to the Horde, and the Alliance will recognize that. They must, or neither side will be able to move forward and fight against their fate."

"It's because of you things are like this," said Armi. "If you hadn't stepped in, Garrosh probably would've been spared and put on trial. At least, that's what we heard the King and the others saying."

"Oh, it _definitely_ would have," said Lightning. "Count on it. But I did my job…for the most part."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "I wanted to do more, you know? I wanted to get rid of all the threats on the surface, and I would have liked to have done something about the naga and N'Zoth. Yeul told me to let it be because not only would it be too soon it would hasten Azeroth's destruction."

"The Goddess of Death sent you?" said Mishka.

Lightning grimaced. "Well…not exactly. How do I put this? Yeul is like a phoenix. She was the first human in the world, created in Etro's image, and once a seeress of an ancient tribe called the Farseers. However, each vision she saw shortened her life spanned, and if they were particularly strong they would kill her so she would be reborn again and repeat the cycle. When the new world was about to be made, one Yeul went with us while the others stayed behind with Caius to take Etro's place in the unseen realm. Free from her fate, she lives now as a normal human with Noel."

"So if it wasn't the Goddess Yeul…Yeuls…that brought you here," said Armi, "who did?"

She snorted. "Funny story, that. It went like this:

* * *

_It'd been a year since the new world came into being_ (Lightning began), and humanity was finally getting back on its feet. People flocked to the cities and villages created for them and began to rebuild their cultures; other began new ones. Animals and beasts relocated to the outskirts and wilderness to repopulate. We made use of the technology provided us and improved them. It was a time of peace and self-reflection, and every day everyone was grateful for a second lease on life.

Most of us forgot about Nova Chrysalia, the old world, but there were a few who had retained their memories of all that had lead up to their rebirth. My friends and I were part of that few, but there was no reason to fight anymore. Our lives at that moment were blank slates, unblemished with the rise of the first dawn, and so we went our separate ways.

It took a while for things to set in. Up until then I had never settled down and allowed normalcy to work its magic on me. But it did, and soon after I became adjusted to my surroundings. Where once I hated the quiet of the nights and the traffic of the day I grew to love. I would sit on the perch and stargaze with a wine cooler in hand. I had my own little vegetable garden to practice my cooking (because let's be honest, if you dragged me out here to the market and begged me to make something you had better _run_). I even went and got myself a parrot to keep me company. I named him Merlin, and Merlin is the loudest sonuvabitch you'll ever meet (and that's on his good days!), but he's a good bird. He likes being pat on the beak, that Merlin.

Anyway, I'm getting off track.

So, one day I was sitting out on my porch. It was a scorcher and I had a portable fan going at full speed to cool off. I was relaxing with a sea-salt popsicle and wondering if I should take Merlin out and put him on his leash, even though I had the A/Cs blasting for his comfort.

Then out of nowhere this _thunderbolt_ (if you want to call it) came crashing down in front of me. I had jumped and sent my treat flying out of my hand. For a second I was ready to draw out my gunblade only to remember it was in the house on its mount. Merlin was squawking away and I could hear him thrashing his wings against the cage, but as much as I wanted to go in and calm him I had to see just what the hell this was all about.

Where the bolt had struck there stood a girl. She had long teal-colored hair with bird feathers tucked in the strands and wore a white slip that made her look smaller and younger (not to mention more like jailbait) than she appeared to be. On the bicep of her left arm was an armband with the symbol of Etro. Do you remember the letter I gave you? The symbol on the seal looks almost identical to the Icon of Blood. Compared to the rest of her attire it seemed out of place.

I picked myself up off my ass and glared at her, because it was her fault that my ice cream was gone and may or may not have been vaporized out of existence. Well, that and she scared the crap out of me and the bird. "Is this how you greet the dead when they're about to cross over?" I asked her.

"I'm not those Yeuls," she said, crossing her arms under her chest, "nor am I the mortal Yeul."

"Those are the only Yeuls I know of. So what are you? A lookalike?"

"I'm an alternate universe Yeul. I come from a universe where the timeways and an incalculable number of dimensions are under heavy observation. In that version of the world the Lady Etro is the Goddes of Time, and when she saw that she couldn't tackle the threats lying therein alone she decided that something had be done. So she chose one hundred people—fifty men and fifty women—to become her Champions and formed the Multiuniverse Protection and Reclamation Committee. She bestowed upon them the gift of invincibility so that they would complete their tasks no matter how dire they were. I am one such Champion."

"You don't look like much of a fighter," I said.

"Not every Champion fights. We operate via rotation. One group defends the timeways, one group studies and records the opening and closing of different timelines, one group goes into the most recent moment in time where the threat is taking place and removes it, and one group goes back in time to steer the timelines in a different direction—more or less away from imminent planetary and dimensional destruction."

"What group do you work under?"

"The second group: the Order of Historical and Manipulative Documentation. When I'm switched out to fight, I do so with my magic. It's quite powerful, or so the Lady says."

"No kidding. There's a scorch mark under your feet!" I pointed at the blackened spot.

She glanced at it. "Oh. Spatial entries aren't supposed to do that. I guess I need more training, but that can wait. I've been sent by the Lady Etro to offer you the chance of a lifetime." She clicked her heels together, squared her shoulders, and curled a fist to her breast. Yeul struck quite the soldierly pose, but I thought it looked so out of character. "Claire Farron," she began in an authoritative voice, "former Knight of the Goddess of Death and Savior of the World-Still-Yet-Unnamed, will you join the Multiuniverse Protection and Reclamation Committee?"

I sighed. I wasn't going to beat around the bush with this one. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…I don't fight anymore. I don't _want_ to fight anymore. I just want to kick back and live a normal life." The life, I'm sure she knew, I had denied myself in that bygone age.

Yeul blinked rapidly, a stunned expression on her face the likes I'd never seen on any other Yeul. "N-No one's ever turned down a request before! Especially one that comes directly from the Lady Herself!"

"There's a first for everything."

"Don't you feel the need to fight? To go back out in the world and lend a helping hand?"

"The world must make room for new heroes. What my friends and I did was more than enough."

"Do you know what's going on? While you're living the dream, others are living in fear. In some other country civil war is brewing. Factories are working overtime to mass produce arms. Learning institutions are harnessing the magic in the ley lines and twisting it with their dark thoughts. Borders are being drawn and curfews enacted. Don't you want to do something about it?"

"In a different time and place I would take up the gunblade and set things straight, but that time has come and gone. People need to learn how to solve their problems on their own."

"That's selfish."

"It is," I admitted, "but I can't always be there for everyone. I can't save everyone no matter how fast I go or how hard I try. I learned that when I was the savior."

"But you've thought about it, haven't you? You can't help but look beyond the horizon and wonder what you could do to restore the peace. You know you can't make everyone happy, but if it means you have to bloody your hands and do more than _convince_ the sides to reach a compromise you'd do it. You think about it every night and every day, in your dreams and in your heart. You hear its clarion call, and each time is more louder and more desperate."

I can tell you one thing: Yeul was never this talkative. The Yeuls I met during my time in the dying world stayed at Caius Ballad's side, for when he damned humanity he also damned himself. He became one with the Chaos beneath the earth, unable to die, and throughout the centuries grew bitter and convinced himself he was beyond salvation. But do you know why he couldn't die? It was because of the Yeuls. The Yeuls _were_ the Chaos, Chaos from the unseen realm. One half wanted to set him free but the other refused to let him go, for they loved him too much and couldn't bear to be without him. Usually she was quiet and kept to herself, speaking only to those she knew personally like Caius or Noel, so seeing her act so…so _human_, so _expressive_…it was like talking a completely different person.

Yet this incarnation of her shared the same trait that all the Yeuls had: the ability to read the emotions and intents underneath a person's words and body language. In less than a minute she understood my anger at humanity for quickly resorting to violence instead of compromise, my frustration at the lack of progress being made to quell the growing unrest, my sadness at the number of newborn lives already lost.

But most of all, she understood how restless I was slowly becoming. Understood the hours I've put into sitting on those steps with a stick of frozen sea-salt ice cream, sprawled out, head tilted back and staring over the hills, streets, cities, stars, sky, and the world beyond, wondering what the hell I was doing just letting things go on.

"You're only human, Claire," Yeul said. "It's normal to feel like you can make a difference. It's not too late."

Yes, I could still do something. I could arm myself, charter a flight to the country, and throw down with anyone that got in my way. My swordsmanship and marksmanship were superb, my magical repertoire far above average than what most people learned in those five centuries; and given how pure and unrestrained it was in the new world I could refine it, hone it, master it. My body would be thrumming with sweet, delicious mana, a weather vane among the howling winds of magic. If I so wish it, I could become a god.

But that would repeat the cycle of hate, and humanity doesn't need a god to tell them how they should live their lives. _I_ didn't need a god telling me what to do; Etro was the only exception.

"One hundred people should be enough," I said. "I shouldn't be given special treatment just because of my past deeds." Even if it sounded like an excuse, it was the truth. Why make it one-hundred-and-one based off a single person?

Yeul made a face, like she sucked on a lemon. "I know. We have a very low turnover rate, and we only hire when one of the Hundred either wants to go back to living a normal life…or gets lost in a transdimensional rift between the timeways and is lost forever until the End of Life, the Universe, and Everything."

"Are you?"

"N-No."

"Then why does Etro want me?"

Her cheeks burned a handsome shade of red. "Lady Etro likes magical girls. _A lot._"

"What the hell is a magical girl?"

So she told me.

* * *

And so Lightning told them. Armi collapsed onto her side, laughing, tears streaming down her face. Mishka blanched and exchanged glances with Banchou, who curiously cocked his head. "Seriously?"

The woman blushed and wrinkled her nose. "Ask my sister. She was more…ugh, _magical_ than I was. She had the clothes, the mascot, and the male sidekick who would never make it past the friendzone. The worst part was learning that she was trying to come up with all these _catchphrases_ every time some big badass monster got in their way. I mean, the past and the future were in danger of being wiped out and my little sister was jotting down _notes_ on how to be the best magical girl."

"But after all she went through, it was pointless," said Mishka. "It sounds like being a magical girl is suffering."

"Only if you make contracts without reading the fine print."

"But…! But…!" Armi gasped. "I can see it! I can see _you_—this…this _army girl_—dressed in a leotard and a skirt and…and…!" She fell again and buried her face in the floorboards, muffling her laughter.

"Oh shut up," Lightning groused, her blush darkening. "I helped Etro because I wanted to. No one told me the Goddess of Death was into that kind of stuff."

"So what happened after you were enlightened?" Mishka asked.

"I told Yeul that it would do me some good to get out and blow off a bit of steam, but only on the condition that Etro kept her hands to herself. There was a bit of back and forth between those two after that, but they agreed that I could come and go as I please between my world and the Spaces In Between, the pocket dimension in Yeul's universe that exists outside the flow of time and space. Somebody had to watch Merlin while I was gone, so I left him with Serah and Snow." Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. "She hasn't forgiven me for the sleep she's lost because of him."

"Compared to an Old God-empowered orc, a parrot should be the least of her concerns."

"Yeah. It's been…about six months since I started this gig. Time doesn't flow as naturally in the Spaces, so I think I've been in Azeroth for about…let's see, a little over a week. The gate dropped me in the Barrens, so I had to hoof it east to the rebel camps in Durotar by the time the ships docked at Bladefist Bay. It's a good thing I got there when the Siege began. Any later and I would've missed my chance."

"You can just go back, can't you?" Armi asked, as she picked herself off the floor.

"I could, but Yeul said it had to be done right away, no second chances."

"I take it you're part of the group that takes care of cruxes in recent events," said Mishka.

"That's right, the Order of Eventual and Inevitable Turnout. My job was to eliminate Garrosh Hellscream before Taran Zhu placed him under arrest."

"But you're still here."

"Yes. Technically I don't have a reason to stay here unless something else pops up down the line." Lightning pursed her lips to a thin line. "But truth be told, I wasn't satisfied. Far from it. As I said before, I wanted to do more. I didn't care too much about the consequences that would result from my actions. I didn't care what everyone thought when things came to pass. So instead of reporting to Yeul like I should've done, I took matters into my own hands." She heaved a weary sigh and ran a hand through her hair. "Or at least I tried to."


	5. No More Divergence

**5.  
****No More Divergence**

"Claire Farron, what have I told you about attempting world domination?"

Lightning groaned. "Serah, what I do in a universe's fluctuating timeline is none of your business."

"Yes it is! Do you even know how important it is to uphold a world—nay, the world's temporal and historical integrity? You can't just overthrow people as you see fit! Security measures are put in place _for a reason!_"

"This is for the good of Azeroth! If I don't do something—"

"That's just it, Claire! You don't have to do anything at all! Silence is a valid option!"

"What kind of messed up logic is that? That's something you see in a video game!"

"Well you better get it memorized, because that's how things work in the real world. Not in some arrogant, indulgent fantasy!" Serah pointed the finger she poked Lightning with to the side of her head.

Lightning sneered. "_Serah._" She looked over her shoulder at Yeul, who was helping Noel stand up. Mog the moogle rose with him, one tiny paw grasping the human's larger hand. It was as cute and endearing a sight as ever, but "You shouldn't have brought them here."

"Hey!" Serah leaned in, blocking her view. "You wanna argue with someone, I'm right here! I gave Yeul the idea—"

"Yeah, cool." She put her hand over the girl's forehead and pushed her aside so she could see.

"I mean it, Claire!" She struggled against the steely wall of her palm, digging her heels into the sand.

Yeul shrugged. "This was the only way that didn't involve forcefully deconstructing your atomic structure and reconfiguring it at the Spaces or throwing your mind into a pool of nightmare fuel by perusing one of my numerous, universally removed talismans like the Sharingan. And really, do you want to go through all that trouble and wind up a sobbing wreck for a month when you can just wait for those signs to occur naturally?"

"Did I mention how jacked up this version of you is?" Lightning deadpanned.

"Did I mention how much of your old self is resurfacing?" Yeul countered, putting her hands on her hips. "I don't need a full-length mirror to see that. That's what eyes are for!"

"How do you feel, kupo?" Mog asked Noel.

He rubbed the small of his back. "I don't know if I can even walk! I bet if I looked, the state of my posterior would blend right in with my old adventuring clothes!"

"If you think this is enough to bring me back, you're way in over your head," said Lightning, ignoring them. "Take them home, and when you're done let Etro know I'm not leaving until I have this world ready for the Legion."

"Lightning," said Yeul, "you know what the Lady plans to do to you if you don't come back soon, don't you? Of course you do. You should see the look on your face!"

She looked away, blushing. "I don't wanna…."

"Then go back, Claire!" said Serah, lifting her half-concealed face to Lightning's. "There's no worse suffering in all the multiverse than cosplaying as a magical girl for the Goddess based on the amount of time you accumulate the longer you stay here!"

Lightning made a choked sound. "Th-Then I'll suffer that fate!" she stammered. "I can handle dressing up as a prince, or a devil, or even"—she shuddered—"_a maid._"

"Don't do it, Lightning!" Noel exclaimed, hissing as he straightened his posture and popped the kinks out of his back. "You're better than that!"

"Wouldn't you rather put up with Merlin squawking and pooping in his cage than performing the Lady's biddings, kupo?" said Mog.

"This is all for the sake of Azeroth," she grumbled. "I will suffer as I have lived."

Finally, with a tiny cry, Serah threw off her sister's hand and glared up at her. "I'd never thought I say this, but you're a tool, Claire! Are you even Claire at all? Because the Claire I know would never—"

"Um, excuse me." Anachronos cleared his throat. He, along with the rest of his flight and mortal comrades, were watching the exchange, unsure as to what to say or do.

"Just a second, sir!" the girl snapped at him before returning her attention to Lightning. "Now as I was saying, the real Claire I know would never stoop so low and commit to something she doesn't share the same interest in as her sis—" She stopped. Her eyes flew open and her mouth morphed into a surprised 'O'.

She whirled around and faced Anachronos. They stared at each other.

Noel heaved a world-weary sigh. "Oh boy."

"My plan!" Yeul groaned.

"Incoming fangirl attack in three…two…!" said Mog.

"_IS THAT A DRAGON?!"_ In the vastness of the caverns, her words ricocheted like the tolling of bells in a grand cathedral. Everyone around her winced at the sheer volume of her voice; Yeul gnashed her teeth and closed her hands into fists, tempted to chew her nails to their wicks.

The heir of the former Aspect blinked down at Serah. "Y-Yes I am. A bronze dragon, to be exact—"

"Can I touch you?!" He started as the girl dashed up to his platform. Her eyes were shining madly, excitedly, bright enough to blind him. _"Can I can I can I?!"_

"Can't you take my word for it…?"

"_HE IS REAL, CLAIRE!"_ Serah exulted, slapping one of the dragon's claws. _"HE'S REALLY REAL!"_

"That's great," Lightning drawled. "Now be a good girl and play with the big bronze dragon. Big sis is going to have an _adult conversation_ with her 'benefactor.'" Yeul balked at the annoyed look sent her way.

Serah didn't hear her. She crossed her arms over the lip of the platform, gazing admiringly up at Anachronos. "What's your name, big guy?"

"A-Anachronos."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Anachronos! Did I say it right? I hope I said it right! Tell me about yourself! What do you do here? What's your diet? Do you have a dragon named Bahamut in this universe, or is he a man that can turn into a dragon like Caius Ballad?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Take your time! I wanna know everything there is to know about you! Until I met alternate universe Yeul, I didn't know there were other groups that operated like the Committee!"

"We dragons can't peer into the timeways anymore. We, uh, lost that when the Aspects, one of them being my father, became mortal." Anachronos sat down and got comfortable, folded one foreleg over the other. "It's a long story."

"One thing at a time! There's so much I wanna know!" She bounced up and down on her feet.

"Well, I already told you my name. Now tell me about yourself." So they engaged in a conversation, and Lightning was glad to have an obstacle out of the way.

"Now," she said to Yeul, "where were we? Oh yes. I'm not going back—"

"Hold on!" cried Watsun, stepping in between the group.

Lightning sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "What now? We're in the middle of something."

"Not until we get some answers!" He rattled his mace at her and swept it toward Yeul and Noel. "Just who are you people? And what is that _thing_ supposed to be?" He nodded at Mog.

"I'm a moogle, kupo! What are you?"

"I'm a dwarf, ye little puffball! A son of Ironforge born and raised!" Watsun puffed out his chest and stroked his beard proudly.

"We don't have dwarves where we come from," said Noel. "Nor elves or trolls or any other race on Azeroth. It's all humans all the time."

"Oh bloody hell, don't mention that around some of the Alliance folk. _Especially_ the draenei, the worgen, and the night elves. Buggers can't stand the King and his kid, much less being lead by a human, but they work for them all the same because, hey, how are they going to support themselves?"

"And where do you come from?" asked Alexston Chrome. He took a long pull from the mug Watsun had given him and drew back with a contented sigh. "Damn that's good!"

"Oi, brother! That was mine!" He jumped up.

Alexston raised his arm and held it out of his reach. "Not anymore," he said, and doffed the rest of the liquid down his throat. Yeul blushed and mumbled something. Standing next to her, Noel heard what she said and found his face growing hot.

"What's going on?" the dwarf asked. "What'd she say?"

"I don't think you want to know," Noel said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

"It's a secret, kupo!" said Mog.

"Oh what does it matter?" said Lightning. "Answering their questions is much more important than saying they shared an _indirect kiss_." Watsun sputtered scandalously. Alexston belched loudly, rolled his shoulders, and shrugged indifferently.

"At the very least," said Noel, "these people deserve to know who we are."

"They already know I killed Garrosh and spared the world from repeating history. But as for who I am," she regarded the Timewalkers and the tabards they wore. On their breasts was the symbol of infinity, a loop of gold on sandy brown—an appropriate choice, "I'm just like you guys."

"As am I," said Yeul, striking a soldierly pose. "I, Paddra-Nsu Yeul, and Lightning Farron, are but cogs in the machine that make up the Multiuniverse Protection and Reclamation Committee, formed and guided by Her Most Venerable Goddess of Time and Creation, Lady Etro! We watch the timeways and direct them as we see fit! With the gift of invincibility there is nothing we cannot accomplish!"

Their stares were blank. "So," said Alexston, "you're like the Infinite dragonflight."

Yeul's brows shot up her hairline so fast Lightning thought they were going to fly right off her face. "N-No we're not!"

"Yeah you are," Watsun agreed. "Changing history for your own benefits. Haven't you guys ever heard of the butterfly effect? We Timewalkers guard the timeways so _no one_ tampers with it."

"That's what the Committee does, too! We study temporal anomalies, defend the passages from chaotic presences lurking between dimensions, and steer the course of bleak futures toward brighter ones for the betterment of mankind and all other sentient races! We know what we're doing!"

"That's all well said and done, but look here, little miss: you got rid of Garrosh. Everyone's happy, but what kinda effect do you think that's going have on the world as a whole?"

"You still have the Alliance and the Horde," said Noel. "If they're going to fight against this Burning Legion, let alone any threat, they're going to have put aside their grievances and stick together."

"Finally, someone speaks sense!" Lightning expostulated, throwing her arms up in the air.

"Aye, but will it be enough?"

"If it isn't, then they'll have to start preparing," Noel added. "From what Yeul's told me, the Legion isn't a group you want to mess with."

Watsun snorted. "No kidding, son. They damn near ravaged Azeroth three times already. A fourth time might be the most brutal and the last."

"Only if they're not united."

The dwarf hummed thoughtfully, then nodded to himself. "Hear me out if you will, ma'am," he said to Lightning. "Say you do overthrow Anachronos. Say you crush the Alliance and the Horde and force them under your leadership. There's going to be a lot of death and a lot of destruction. They may be cowed for a time, but before you know it whispers of rebellion will start spreading. Whatever servants you have will conspire against you in secret. They'll steal weapons, armor, and food right under your nose and outfit any able-bodied person willing to join the cause. Time will pass and you'll wonder why you've been receiving the resources needed to keep your one-world government running. Then, when you think the peace has been won and you grow complacent, they will strike. They will strike hard, push hard, and clamber their way to your throne. You'll get an arrow through your heart, a bullet through your brain, or succumb to the afflictions of magic, and you will die horribly. They'll burn your body, grind your bones to dust, and toss your innards into the sea for the naga to eat, and the name of Lightning Farron or Claire Farron or whatever you go by will go down in history as a tyrant worse than Garrosh Hellscream, worse than even Lei Shen and all the mogu kings that came after him."

He stared her down from his bushy brows, his eyes stony and serious. "Is that what you want, lass? You may think conquering the world is a good idea, but is it the right way to lead it to a future devoid of Old Gods and demons?"

"I've been blessed by Etro to see to the protection of the world at all costs," she said. "I have driven beasts to extinction and fought against the gods and their children. I will fight against the Legion and their fallen champion even if the planet cracks and burst beneath my feet and the parasites take to the stars. Do you doubt me, sir dwarf?"

He smiled grimly. "Nah, lass, I don't doubt ye…but I think ye doubt us. Y'see, my colleagues told me that when Lei Shen was confronted by a group of adventurers in his sanctum, he declared himself the slayer of kings and gods. But guess what? So are we. We've fought those demons and won. We've fought an ocean of undead and won. We've fought against the parasites sleeping beneath the surface and won. We even fought against a dragon and his cult that sought to bring about the end of the world…and we won! The world may stand divided, but when danger comes bearing down on us and it seems like there's no hope left to be had _that's_ when we unite! That's when we fight! So don't ye underestimate us just because your goddess made you invincible; we're the only world in all the Great Dark Beyond that hasn't fallen to the burning shadow, and it's not gonna happen any time soon. Not on my watch, not on anybody's."

Lightning stared at him for a long time, mouth falling agape. Noel whistled lowly.

"Wow!" Mog breathed. "That was…!"

"Amazing!" Noel finished.

"Damn inspirational, actually," said Yeul.

At the platform, Serah stopped talking and cupped a hand to her ear. "Do you hear that, Anachronos?"

The dragon raised his great head and listened. "I hear the sands falling endlessly in their glasses. Is that it?"

"No. That's not it. Listen."

He did, and shook his head. "I don't hear anything out of the ordinary. What is it that you hear, little Serah?"

She flashed a devilish grin. "That's the sound of my sister getting burned!"

Anachronos looked at Lightning. "But she's not on fire."

"Ugh!" Serah hung her head. "Anachronos, buddy! You need to get caught up with the times! Live a little!"

"I've been alive for over a thousand years."

"And that's not enough!"

Finally, remembering where she was, Lightning closed her mouth. "I just want to protect this world," she told Watsun, working around the thick lump forming in her throat. "Centuries ago humanity in my world, the old world, was condemned to ageless, infertile immortality. Time was broken and consumed by Chaos. I didn't do shit to stop it. I was more concerned about keeping my sister's memory alive more than anything." She gestured idly toward her, and Watsun glanced at the girl chatting amicably with Anachronos. "She foresaw the coming of Chaos. She and her friend" now she faced Noel "went on a quest to change a catastrophic future, but it was a mistake. In the end it meant nothing, and she lost her life. I sent her to her death, and what did I do? I went to sleep. I slept, and all the while people suffered and the world edged closer to annihilation." She brought the gunblade in front of her, gazed deeply at the troubled woman reflected in its steel. "I almost didn't make it."

"Lightning," said Noel, "you know you had to sleep."

"Don't blame yourself for what is past," said Yeul. "It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't Noel's. It had to be done. Etro's death was fixed. It's no different than Medivh opening the Dark Portal, Go'el escaping from Durnholde, or Arthas culling Stratholme. Very few things in the multiverse are immune to change."

"But it's okay now!" said Mog, and he floated in a circle around Lightning's head, dousing her with sprinkles of magic dust from his bat-like wings. "Everyone is living life by their own will, the way it should be. So even if bad things still happen, don't feel sad! There's plenty of good to be found in the new world, kupo!"

"I know," she whispered hoarsely. Then, more loudly, her voice cracking, "I know! But still…still I think about it. Still I wonder if I could've done more, sooner rather than later. If I could, I would go back and change everything. _Anything._ If I could go be in two places at once, everywhere at once, consequences be damned I would do it!"

Lightning sighed and lowered her weapon. She cast a sidelong glance behind her, at the young prince gaping widely and curiously. "Perhaps it would've been better if I had done nothing at all. Maybe you did have the right idea, I don't know, but this is your home and it would be wrong of me to force Azeroth in a direction it had only just moved away from. I did what I came here for and thus set the stage for the next chapter of what's to come, and what happens next is anybody's guess."

Wrathion stared at her incredulously, then scoffed. "_Well_, if you hadn't broken the Vision and killed poor Kairozdormu, we might've had something of a fighting chance!"

"And you think your plan would go just as smoothly? Get off your high horse." Yeul snipped bitingly. "No one knows what the future holds. It's shaped by the choices we make and the outcomes that are produced as a result. All the possibilities and permutations are just that. As all-knowing as the Committee, even they can't determine the consequential future born from our actions. But we try nonetheless, to the very best of our abilities."

"You're still no different from the Infinite dragonflight," Alexston reiterated.

Yeul opened her mouth to protest, but Lightning cut her off by holding up a hand. "No, he's right. I understand the Committee has good intentions, but these guys don't see it that way. To them, what we're doing goes against the laws of time and space. It's just how things are here."

"So it is," said Watsun. "I won't tell you how to do your jobs, but do keep in mind the ramifications you'll have on the timeways. The slightest disturbance can alter history greatly, and may not always culminate in your favor."

Yeul crossed her arms over her chest. "Thanks for the lesson, Professor Obvious."

"In the end," Wrathion said to Lightning, smug and triumphant, "you and I are more alike than I thought…and more than you would care to admit."

"I can still beat your ass," she said, and stepped forward.

He quickly scurried away, dragging a furrow through the sand with his hands and rumpus. "That doesn't change anything!" he cried shrilly.

Lightning harrumphed. "And you call yourself the son of Deathwing. What a big, mean badass you are."

"I'll prove to you how badass I can be! Just because you stopped me once doesn't mean you can do it again! I don't need time travel and those brutish, green apes to get what I want!" He scrambled to his feet, slung back the crackling spear, and formed a peculiar hand gesture that resembled a cross but with all but both forefingers and middle fingers closed. In a puff of smoke he went from being human to a small black whelp. "I WILL FIND A WAY!" he screeched in a high-pitched voice. "By my birthright as the Earth Warder, I will ensure a future in which everyone will not cower beneath the yoke of the Legion! Anyone who dares get in my way will _be annihilated!_" He teetered in the direction of the ramp and rose, higher and higher, furiously beating his wings. No one on the ground spared so much as a single, cursory glance at his departure.

Mog's crystal bobble drooped like a wilted flower. "I feel kinda bad for him!" he said.

"He really would've brought the Legion to Azeroth in the end, wouldn't he?" said Noel.

"Had we let things go along their original course? Definitely," said Yeul. "Nothing hurts a person's confidence more than causing your own self-fulfilling prophecy. Now that we've got _that_ out of the way, we can finally go home." This last part she directed at Lightning, looking at her impatiently. "You know, before Lady Etro decides she'd rather dress you in something skimpy."

"Don't remind me! Some of those garbs I wore looked better on a Yusnaan reveler than the savior of mankind—"

"ANNIHILATED!" Wrathion warbled, suddenly flying back into the spacious cavern. "Especially you, Claire Farron! When next we meet, I will be stronger! So much so it'll take you a hundred years to catch up to me, and a thousand years to defeat me!"

"Hey Mog," Lightning said, tuning out the dragon's rant. "I need you to do me a favor."

"What is it, kupo?"

"Except you won't be able to," Wrathion continued, "because by then you'll be dead and I will still be alive: older, faster, and so much better than before! I will be like the Titans themselves!"

"No, Light! Stop!"

"Fly, Mog!"

_"Nooooooo, kupokupooooo!"_

"HEY! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?! I said I'm going to kick you're a—OOF!" Wrathion recoiled as the moogle struck true. Both creatures bounced away from each other. Mog slammed headfirst into the ground, and Wrathion nearly joined him as he dropped like a stone, spinning out of control and fighting to recapture control of his balance.

Serah, hearing Mog's cries, had turned just in time to see her sister hurl him at the whelp. "Lightning, what the hell! That's animal abuse!"

"Anyone that isn't my friend or part of the family can't say my real name and get away with it," she said, thumbing her nose.

"For Alternate Universe Etro's sake, he's not a homing missile!"

"And I'm not target practice!" Wrathion raged. He righted himself and spat a stream of dark smoke and flames tinged blue with heat. "What's the matter with you?! You never interrupt someone in the middle of their diatribe!"

"I just did," said Lightning. "Now book it, before I throw the moogle again."

"Lightning!" Serah cried, indignant and aghast.

"Please go!" Mog pleaded. He reappeared next to her in a cloud of magical sparkes and rubbed a growing bump on his head with his paws. "Don't make her do it!"

"She might even punt him," Noel added.

"Noel!"

"Even better: I can do it for her, and I have the backing of a magical girl-loving goddess on my side," Yeul said, her grin mischievous and predatory. "How's about I imbue Mog with the physical manifestations of hearts and rainbows, sunshine?"

"You, too?!"

Wrathion lobbed a fist-sized meteor at Lightning. She stood her ground as it sputtered out and disintegrated in a rush of wind and sulfur right in her face. "I'm glad you're all leaving, because that means I can plot _in peace_! Peace that this planet doesn't deserve until every rotten blemish that walks on two legs or four legs or has a thousand-and-some-odd mouths are wiped clean but _peace I can work with!_ Peace that doesn't involve pink-haired turncoats! Oh, if only I had pressed those two nitwits a little harder; none of this would be happening—!" He squawked as a bullet buzzed right by his head.

Noel, Yeul, and Mog scrambled back, startled by the seamless motion of Lightning raising the gunblade in its pistol form and firing off a shot. Peering down the barrel, both her eyes and the weapon trained unwaveringly, threateningly, on the whelp. "You leave them alone," she growled. "I don't care if you're a baby dragon. You so much as touch them I'll skin the hide off your back and make a damn belt out of it to smack you with. Do I make myself clear?"

Wrathion opened his mouth, closed it, flapped it up and down several times. Finally, he flew away. "Can't _wait_ 'til I get older!" he grumbled furiously under his breath. "Can't _wait_ 'til I'm bigger, too! Bet you nuts to bolts I can crush you flat, or toss you back and forth like a pigskin, or eat you, or...!" His ramblings faded into obscurity.

When he was gone, Lightning switched the gunblade to sword mode and stuffed it in its holster. "What an idiot," she said.

"You should've let me done it," said Yeul.

"I wanted to _scare_ him, not kill him."

"I knew you had a strong arm, but holy kupo can you throw!" said Mog. "Oh, Lightning, why did you have to throw me so hard? I thought those days were over!"

"Well that's the thing, Mog," said Noel. "They never go away, because those memories are right here." He poked the moogle's chest. "Besides, if it hadn't been for you we'd have never gotten all those treasure chests that were out of our reach."

"At least Serah didn't throw so hard!"

"That's right, I didn't!" the girl reaffirmed.

"Be that as it may, we all speak truly," said Anachronos. His draconic gaze swept across his flight, the Timewalkers, Watsun, the outsiders of the new world, and then settled on Lightning and Yeul. "Not only is there the Legion to contend with, there are also the Infinite dragonflight, as well as the Old Gods and those that dwell beyond the civilized hemisphere. Whether your actions this day merely delayed their coming or hastened them, when the time comes we will be ready. Even if it is against our own." He sighed, sadly, and looked upon the fallen dragons Infinite and bronze—Kairozdormu and Eradormi and Nil and so many others he had known, some for most of his adult life.

"That's how it should be," said Lightning. "Past, present, and future—of all the things we hold dear in the multiverse, the integrity of time is the most important…and the most precious."

Serah sighed and clapped her on the back. "Wise words…but I wish you'd realized that sooner! You slipped up, Claire!"

"Can't argue with that," said Noel.

"Point taken, kupo," said Mog, nodding.

"Let's get going then," said Yeul.

"I can't," said Lightning.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Yeul snatched her wrist and glared up at her. "Are you _trying_ to make Lady Etro worried? You can't keep putting this off!"

Lightning gently shook her hand off. "I know, but I can't leave. Not yet." She turned around, facing the ramp and what lay beyond. "There's one more thing I have to do."

* * *

"I had to find you two," she told Armi and Mishka. "I couldn't just leave without letting you know why I was here, because it didn't feel right for me to speak with Wrathion but not the adventurers who worked under him. We asked around and learned you were staying in the Valley of the Four Winds. After that, I warped from my current location to the border between here and the Jade Forest and walked the rest of the way."

"And Yeul and the others?" Armi asked.

Lightning drained the broth from the bowl and set it off to the side. "They should be here right about now. Probably waiting for me to finish up."

"I still can't believe you killed Kairoz," said Mishka. "We knew there was _something_ about him that didn't sit well with us, ever since we had used the Vision of Time and saw a possible future where he had killed Soridomi, Nozdormu's consort. But we didn't think too much of it, figured it was just a possibility that wouldn't come true because he was loyal to his flight. We never thought he'd conspire with Wrathion."

"Then again, no one ever expected Go'el to make Garrosh Warchief," said Armi. "No one expected Garrosh to lose himself to the power behind the position and tear the Horde apart with his warmongering."

"Anything is possible," said Lightning. "It can become truths and it can become lies. You think you really know someone, their flaws and quirks and strengths, and then they do something you'd never think him or her capable of doing and it throws their credibility as a friend or an ally into question. Garrosh was like that, but so was Kairoz. In hindsight, we are all like that to some degree. The results of our actions can be for better or worse, and sometimes they can have far-reaching consequences that will not always be in our control. I felt that, had I not interfered, Wrathion and Kairoz would have done just that."

"Wrathion isn't the type of person to give up easily," said Mishka, and she stretched her arms high over her head. "I bet you right now he's plotting away and hanging back for the next worldwide threat to show up. I'm going to say it'll be Azshara; she did kidnap Neptulon."

"No way!" said Armi. "It's going to be that one Old God the Twilight's Hammer was trying to feed energy to in Vashj'ir. What was its name again? Zoth-Ommog?"

"I don't know. We never found out."

"It doesn't matter who or what shows up first," said Lightning. "Although peace has been restored, you shouldn't get too comfortable. The world can end at any time."

"Adventurers greater than us have risen to the task," said Mishka. "Armi and I can't be compared to them, because they have more experience and fought foes that'd crush Deathwing and Garrosh flat. But it's our calling, too. Even if it is infested with Old Gods, naga, and two superpowers that might clash against each other on the battlefield, Azeroth is still our home. We all have our parts to play." Banchou barked, got up and brushed up against her. Mishka laughed and caught him in a gentle headlock. "Yeah. Even beasts like you, Banchou."

Armi's lips quirked up in a smile. "You know, Lightning, adventurers like Mishka and I have done so much in Pandaria and the rest of the world that even the faction leaders call us heroes or champions. But if I had to be completely honest with myself, I don't really care how they see us. I'm just me, Mishka is Mishka, and every adventurer is themselves. Whether we're part of the Alliance or the Horde or independent, it doesn't matter. We just want to help!" And then she grinned.

Lightning smirked. "Adventurers, huh? The way you put it, it brings back memory of a story I heard long ago in the old world. It was about people like you, the Warriors of Light, who fought against an empire that sought to make war against the Alliance of the free world—"

She was interrupted by a thunderous boom, followed by surprised shouts and fearful screams.

Armi and Mishka jumped. "What was that?" Mishka cried. Banchou dropped to the ground and growled at the door.

"Huh," Lightning said, "looks like my ride's here."

Armi looked back at her. "Your…ride…?"

"We call our method of teleportation instant transmission, but Yeul's power…well, it leaves more to be desired." Lightning rose from the table and gathered her dishes. "Come on, we better go see her before she decides to barge in and blow up the house."

"B-Blow up?!"

"If it means getting me to leave, she'll teleport right in here." She pushed the door open with her shoulder and proceeded down the steps. Banchou tagged behind her, stopped, and looked back at Mishka and Armi. They exchanged curious, tense glances. Armi nodded, and together they left the ranch.


End file.
